"Can I come in?"
Nothing against Kim. She was very bright....but, excuse me, what a STUPID question! When you’re a nineteen year old heterosexual male and there’s a five foot two inch, ninety pound, extremely feminine female with big brown eyes and roiling brown curls to match standing in soaking wet clothes at your door, looking at you with a plaintive and ever-so-slightly wanton look in her eye, what are you going to say?
As it turns out, not a damn thing. I just opened the door and Kim walked in. We kissed warmly. I was glad to see her, although I did have my heart set on watching the playoffs. My team was in for the first time in while. Quite a while. Seemed like a big deal...but not nearly as big as what was about to start.
She explained that she’d been driving in the neighborhood, doing some errands, when the storm hit. It was one of those Florida frog-stranglers that usually come only in the summer time, but all the lightning and the hard and heavy rain--so heavy, she couldn’t even see the road--had frightened her. She knew I lived nearby, so. . . .
"I hope you don’t mind?"
Can you believe a girl who could recite Shakespeare like a Ph.D. and had the scholarships to prove it could ask so many stupid questions?
The thunderstorm was passing by quickly, as they are prone to do in Florida, but Kim was still shivering in my arms as the pre-game show droned on in the background.
"I’m cold. Do you have something I could change into?"
"Sure . . . ummm . . .I don’t think any of my pants will fit you." She was tiny. Maybe a 22 inch waist. I’d never seen her nude, but knew she had great legs—one of the first things I’d noticed about her, while she was doing her Bonnie Lass routine at the party. Plus, she favored sun dresses and short-shorts in the summer, which is nine months of the year in Florida.
"I’ve got some t-shirts and an old robe." I secretly hoped she go for the robe. I’d had it since junior high--a blue velour thing with gold trim. Tacky, but the thought of seeing Kim in it....
"The robe sounds good."
Of course, I wasn’t thinking about any of this. I was thinking about the game I’d been planning to watch, alone, and Kim’s sudden arrival and her seeming willingness and the fact that she was going to walk out of that bathroom in a few minutes with a robe I hadn’t worn since 9th grade clinging wetly to her petite frame.
So, there was Kim, in my bathroom. Changing clothes. Putting on a little blue robe I knew would catch her about mid-thigh. And it suddenly dawned on me that Jim had given me eight doses of Q’injo powder, which he claimed, "will make any woman yours."
I remember I’d laughed at him when he said it. "Yeah, right!"
"No, really, Paul. It’s true. This is an old family recipe handed down from generation to generation for who knows how long--and it really works. You remember my fiancee, Xian?"
I remembered. You don’t forget a woman that beautiful, especially when she is plastered to a friend, attentive, adoring and utterly devoted, as she had been the last time I saw Jim, six months before. I knew she was in town with him this time, too, but off spending time with his family today while we got together.
Jim was lying on my sofa drinking a beer and dangling this little grey cloth packet in my face. Since it was the four or fifth brew of the evening and all I was staring blearily at was a little grey cloth packet sealed at the top with a bit of black ribbon, it was hard to take him seriously.
"Xian is mine because of Q’injo. My dad saw I was in love with her when we were eighteen and gave me a sample of the powder. He said he thought her genes would be a good addition to the family pool."
I can’t remember what I said, but it wasn’t dismissive enough to get him to stop conning me, because he continued.
"First off, Q’injo’s the only true aphrodisiac in the world. Women get very hot once they’ve taken a dose and I’ve never met a woman who wouldn’t fuck the first guy they laid eyes on after they got some--but there’s more. It’s a hypnotic drug too and no woman can resist the power of the man who has given them the powder—if he knows how to influence her."
"Of course, the trance is only temporary--lasts around half-an-hour--but, if you use the opportunity correctly, you can place some really powerful post-hypnotic suggestions. And here’s the kicker--within the first hour after consuming the powder, the woman will become a willing and obedient slave to the first man whose semen she tastes."
"What do you mean, she’s going to turn into some submissive little zombie if she gives me head?"
"If you want that, yes--but all it really means is, she’s addicted to you. Your pheromones, your cum or something. In my family’s experience, the high of being with you becomes like the best sex-and-romance high ever and the withdrawal of being without you is worse than heroin and nicotine withdrawal combined. Nobody we know of has ever detoxed from this one."
And then Jim got really serious, which almost made me believe him.
"It’s a big responsibility. You want to make sure you’re careful who you hook into you like that, because she won’t be going anywhere and you can’t just abandon someone to an addiction they can’t shake. The consequences get a little messy, if you know what I mean."
My conscience niggled. What if it did? Was it right? What would I do if it didn’t? What would I do if it DID?!
I had a sudden image of that scene from Animal House, where Pinto sits on his bed, a half-naked teeny-bopper unconscious beside him. A Devil and an Angel are perched on either shoulder and the little devil exhorts him to, "Fuck her! Squeeze her tits!" The Angel’s argument is somewhat less memorable.
I headed toward the kitchen, stopping at the bathroom door.
"Kim," I shouted over the rushing shower, "Do you want something to drink?"
"Ooooh, I’d DIE for a Diet Pepsi!" came the reply.
She finished the drink in short order, belched in a modest, ladylike fashion, and slid down beside me. The first quarter was half over and my adorable little brunette was purring quietly into my ear, her leg hitched over mine, her fingers knotted loosely in my chest hair. And then, she started working her way down, her fingers sliding lightly over my skin and her tongue darting into my ear.
I silently praised Jim Choi as the bestest friend a man ever had and swore that, somehow, someway, I’d repay the favor. But I knew I had to be careful. I couldn’t let her taste my semen until the drug had worn off. I didn’t want to make a permanent slave of the girl. The clock on the bookshelf beside the TV registered eight minutes since Kim had finished her Pepsi and those last two minutes dragged by like fat joggers toting lead weights and running through waist-deep molasses.
Kim sighed softly and I turned my head to look. Those buttery brown eyes of her were soft, unfocused.
"Kim," I said, deciding to test this right away and trust that I wasn’t going to come off as a complete idiot when she slapped me and ran screaming from the room, "I want you to listen to me. Only to me."
"Yes," muttered. Her eyes never wavered.
I hit the mute button on the remote. The football buzz stopped. I didn’t want any distracting messages getting programmed into her subconscious.
"You’re slipping into a deep trance state, right now. As I caress you and undress you, you will go deeper and deeper into this trance. As you become more aroused, my words will sink more and more deeply into your subconscious. Do you hear me?"
"Yes, Paul. Deeper and deeper." My cock was already hard as stone just listening to her. It was about to get better. I’m not sure where I got the balls to try this out so early in the process, but I just had to.
"I’m going to give you a trance phrase now, Kim. It’s a key phrase and you will remember it without ever thinking about it. Whenever you hear my voice say the phrase. . ." I have to admit I hadn’t completely thought this through. The excitement of the moment had fogged my planning abilities. But then I looked over to the table where my buddies and I had been playing poker late into the previous night and had an idea.
"Whenever you hear my voice and ONLY my voice say the phrase ‘Slut-of-Hearts,’ you will return to this trance state." I hoped the drug would work like this. Jim said I could plant post-hypnotic suggestions, but this seemed a little like asking the genie for extra wishes. Still, it was worth trying.
"Yes, Paul. Slut-of-Hearts."
I started, very gently and slowly, to caress her hair and face as I looked more and more deeply into her eyes. And as my hands slowly wandered over her body, loosening the knot that held the robe tied at her waist, sliding that same robe open and breathing lightly on her rapidly hardening nipples, I started talking. It was as if I’d rehearsed the spiel a dozen times, as if my subconscious had known all along exactly what it wanted to say to a woman in this situation.
"Kim, you trust me completely. You know that I would never do anything to hurt you or ask you to do anything that would harm you. You have complete faith in any idea that I introduce to you. And you are happy to tell me the truth about anything that I ask. Repeat to me what I just said." And she did, almost word for word. And as she did, I gently licked her right nipple and she sucked in her breath and squirmed upward just the tiniest bit, forcing me to take that tasty little bud a little deeper into my mouth.
"Now....tell me, do you play with yourself?"
"Yes. Sometimes."
"And when you do, what do you think about? What are the sexual fantasies that help you to get off?"
Even though she spoke clearly, I could see a little flush creep up her chest and into her neck and cheeks.
"I think about...about showing off to men. About wearing a short skirt and no panties in a crowded place, like the mall or the supermarket, and letting men get a glimpse of my private place. Or wearing a loose blouse and bending over so they can see my little titties. I like to think about my daddy catching me being such a bad girl and spanking me."
"Your daddy?"
"Not my daddy daddy. My boyfriend. I think of him as ‘Daddy’ in the fantasy. I always cum when I get to the part where he takes me over his knee and spanks me for being bad."
Well, this was useful intelligence. I figured it would be wise to build on this.
I spent a few minutes deepening her trance. Since I’d introduced the idea that, the more aroused she got, the deeper her trance would become, this was a pleasant job. I kissed her breasts and neck more and more fervently and her breathing grew deeper, her little moans of pleasure more insistent.
"I’m so wet down there," she murmured at one point. Sounded like an invitation to me. I untangled myself from her arms and hair and neck and nipples for a brief moment, looked down past that flat tummy to those perfect legs and saw the damp spot on her panties--cute little cotton things with daisies on them, by the way.
"Do you want me to take your panties off, Kim?"
"Oh, yeeeesss!" she gurgled.
"Well, I will," I said, teasingly, "but first, I want you to listen some more." And as she listened, I began to caress her legs, working my fingers lightly up her thighs, nipping occasionally at her toes and using the tongue when I was between thoughts.
I told her that I was her "Daddy" now. I was the boyfriend in all those fantasies and I was going to make them come true--but in order to do that, I needed her help.
"You’re my little girl and I’m you’re daddy. You’ll do anything to please your daddy, won’t you?"
"Yes, daddy, anything!" Her gasps and pleas were getting more insistent by the minute, but I still had a ways to go.
"I don’t want perfect obedience, though, because daddy likes to punish his little girl now and then for being bad.
I think she had a mild orgasm when I said that. She stopped breathing for a second and her clenched shut eyes popped open while her hands dug even more deeply into the mattress than they had been. The muscles in that taut stomach rippled.
I had a few surprises in store for her, so I wanted to build this idea structure carefully.
"When you wake up, you won’t remember any of what I’ve said to you since you finished your Pepsi. All you’ll remember is that we made long, slow, fabulous love. You’ll feel more relaxed and happy than you’ve ever felt about being with a man before. Then, over the next few days, things are going to change for you very profoundly.
"First, from now on, the sound of my voice arouses you. When I touch you, you feel it in your nipples and in your pussy. You’ll gradually realize that, the longer you listen to my voice, smell my skin, feel my hands touch you, the more aroused you become and you will always try and find ways to please me, so that I will please you. When I bring you to orgasm, it is always intense and deeply satisfying.
"Other men may excite and arouse you, but they just don’t do it for you the way I do. If I ever permit you to have sex with other men, the orgasms you experience with them will never equal the ones you experience with me.
"Second, you sexual fantasy life will start to be consumed with me. When you play with yourself now--and you will start to do that more and more frequently in the days ahead--my face will be the face of ‘daddy’ that you see. My hands will be daddy’s hands, pulling you onto his lap and reddening your bad-girl bottom. These fantasies will begin to invade your day-to-day life more and more as we continue to see each other over the next few weeks.
"You’ll also really start to enjoy wearing skimpy, revealing clothes." The truth is, Kim was already something of a tease, but I wanted to clear out the shame and guilt and help her to revel in her exhibitionist tendencies. She’d certainly never gone as far as I was going to push her. "You will gradually throw out anything in your wardrobe that I don’t approve of and only buy those things you’re sure will please me and make it fun to tease other men with. The first thing you’re going to get rid of is all your underwear. You can replace your old panties with thong underwear, but you won’t buy any bras." Frankly, she didn’t need them. She had the sweetest little set of small tits I’d ever seen. A bra wasn’t support on her, it was concealment--and she wasn’t going to be much into concealment from now on.
"Soon, you’ll begin to ask me if you should wear underwear or not for a specific occasion. In the meantime, you’ll start to find excuses to show off some of your assets, in just the way you’ve always fantasized. You won’t go any farther than flashing a little tit or showing some leg and maybe some panty." But since she’d soon be wearing only thongs, a few guys are going to get some good looks at that tight little ass I was kneading with my left hand.
By this time, she was panting, "yesdaddy, yesdaddy, yesdaddy" very quietly as I brought her closer and closer to orgasm with my fingers. Her clit throbbed under my touch and her mound was soaked with her own juices. I knew that I needed some relief myself, but I wasn’t quite finished. Since anticipation was more than half the fun, I decided to build some anticipation for myself into the idea structure I was implanting. Total control just didn’t appeal to me. No surprises. I’d be bored in a week. With that in mind, I continued.
"Again, these changes will take place over the next days and weeks as we grow closer, spending time together more regularly. You’ll discover yourself more and more hooked on me and on what only I can provide. You will be submissive, but not dependent. It gives you great pleasure to submit to me, but it is not your only pleasure. I don’t want you to abandon your personality entirely to my whims. You will always be distinctly Kim, with your own ideas and opinions, your own goals, desires and ways of doing things. . . your own ways of getting what you want. This will make your daddy very happy, even when he’s mad and has to punish you."
As I said this last, I had been freeing my cock from its very uncomfortable confinement and, as I reminded her of what daddy’s do, Kim cried out: "Please daddy, fuck me!"
I entered her. She was ready, but she was small and, though I’m no horsedick, I’m somewhat above average, so it was a squeeze. A very happy squeeze. She started coming with the first full stroke, her cries of "yesdaddy" merging into one long, incoherent scream of pleasure.
After all that buildup, it didn’t take me long to explode inside her. As her tight little cunt massaged my spurting cock, I looked down into her eyes and saw the beginnings of the worship that was to become a familiar feature in my life from then on.
"You’ll sleep for an hour, Kim, and wake up beside me, refreshed, deeply satisfied in a way you can never remember feeling before, intensely happy to be with me."
A few minutes later, I dozed off myself. When I woke up a few minutes later, Kim had her thumb tucked sweetly into her mouth. I didn’t dawn on me until later what that might mean.
When Kim woke, she looked up at me in surprise, a look of happy awe growing on her face.
"Sleep well?" I asked.
"Wow. Yes! I feel. . . really good. That was wonderful." She added a long kiss to that, just to prove her point. Worked for me.
"Games about over. How about we go get some dinner?"
"Oh, that sounds GREAT. I am starving! Feel like I haven’t eaten in a week!"
I just smiled quietly to myself.
"What are you going to wear?"
"Oh, that’s right! Let me run and put my stuff in your dryer." And with that, she hopped out of bed, my little junior high school robe flipping up to reveal her panty-covered butt as she skipped out the door.
The next few weeks were going to be very interesting. Very interesting
indeed.
OK, so that sounds really sappy and stupid, like something I would’ve written to you back in middle school, when I was in my musical theatre phase. But I’ve never felt anything like this before and the sex was the best I could ever imagine (And you know, diary, that even though I’ve only slept with one other guy, I can imagine A LOT!) My God, he’s so BIG and so sweet and tender and masterful and strong and I lovehimlovehim-lovehimlovehim!!
OK. OK. I know, diary! You hate it when I just start in the middle like that, so I’ll tell you the whole story.
You know, I’ve been writing you about Paul a lot lately. We’d been out a few times and I thought he was really terrific--fun and smart and a real gentleman too. Well, he wasn’t moving very fast, which I thought was really sweet, but I’d kind of decided I’d like to go a little further. Not all the way, really, but, well, I kind of wanted to see if his lips felt as good on other parts of me as they did when we were kissing, if you know what I mean!!
Anyway, Sunday I was out shopping and this big storm came up. I was in Paul’s neighborhood and was thinking of dropping by anyway, but then I got the idea that he might kind of like it if I let him play the hero and rescue me a little. Unfortunately, his phone was off the hook when I tried to call with pretend car trouble (he’s such a football fan, he didn’t want the game interrupted by phone calls!), so I had to go over there. I didn’t have to try too hard to look like a damsel in distress since just walking from the car to his back door left me soaking wet. I pretended that all the thunder and lightning scared me and the streets were flooded--all of which was actually kind of true--and he let me come in and take a shower and gave me a little robe of his to put on. It was obviously something he’d had for a long time since it was way small on me. He must have outgrown it years ago. I think there are two kinds of guys in the world: the ones who don’t keep anything long and the kind who never throw anything out.
Anyway, I laid down beside him and I don’t know what happened, but I was just SO horny all of a sudden! Before I knew it, he was doing just what I wanted and then some, kissing me all over and down there and pushing into me and I came so hard I thought I might just faint. And the whole time, he was loving and gentle and wonderful.
I hope he’ll be my Daddy, like I always told you I wanted. The only thing that was missing was, I would liked to have tasted him before he came but I got the next best thing. When we were done and he wasn’t looking, I scooped a little of his cum onto my fingers and savored it as I was going to sleep. I don’t think I even like licorice candy as much as I liked that!
I fell asleep for a while after that and when I woke up, my clothes were still too wet to wear, so I decided to put them in the dryer in his laundry room.
I grabbed everything that was hanging in the bathroom, tossed it in a little plastic laundry basket he kept under the sink, borrowed some quarters from Paul’s change jar in the kitchen and, without even thinking about what I was wearing, went back through the bedroom and right out onto the back porch. The rain had stopped, so I hopped puddles as I made my way across the small parking lot to the laundry room.
On my way, I passed an older guy—probably about forty or so—who was hauling his groceries in from the car. I could see his eyes kind of widen as he saw me coming toward him and it suddenly hit me! I was outside in a skimpy robe and panties and nothing else! The rush hit me like—well, like the incredible set of orgasms I just had!
Suddenly, I could feel the damp air on every inch of my exposed skin—and there was a LOT of it! In, like, five seconds, the after-the-rain air wasn’t the only thing that was damp. Paul’s little robe was open to the waist, but pinned to my body by the pressure of the basket, so the guy with the groceries couldn’t see my titties, but he could see the strip of skin between them. My legs and feet were bare and every time I jumped a puddle, the robe flipped up in back and showed off my butt. I looked back as I got to the laundry room door. He was standing in a puddle, two heavy bags of groceries in his arms, staring after me. He hadn’t realized his bread had fallen off the top of one bag and into the puddle yet. I smiled, flipped my hair and ducked into the little laundromat.
There was someone in there ahead of me. This guy was even older than the man in the parking lot. Not ancient or anything, but with some gray in his hair and that softer tummy that doesn’t quite overlap the belt, but would expand real fast if he ate one extra doughnut a week and missed his daily walks. He was handsome, in that older guy way—like Sean Connery or Harrison Ford. A hint of Old Spice, a polo shirt and dressy shorts with old deck shoes and a twinkle in the eye for a pretty young thing like me! You know the type.
He did a double take when he saw me, too, and it was like a switch just flipped in my head (or somewhere a little further down). I was going to get this guy so hard, he’d have to go back to his place and relieve himself!
"Oh, were you about to start some laundry?" I asked, all sweet and flirty, looking him right in the eye. He was like, "Oh, no, just about done here." And it looked like he was. He was folding stuff right out of the two dryers into his big basket on the table.
He said, "Here, let me clear this one for you," and started to drop what he was doing and bend down to empty the bottom of the two stacked dryers. Before he could do it, I stopped him, dropped my basket and squatted down there myself, pulling out his stuff and handing it up to him. As I did that, the robe gaped open and he was looking right down at my boobies. No nipple was showing, but it was a near thing. And my head was right at his crotch when he leaned in to take the clothes from me, so I could see the growing "reaction."
Anyway, it only took me a couple of handfuls to get all his stuff out and I stayed down there while stuffing my own wet things in. He leaned in again to pull his next item out of the top dryer and I could see he was having to make an effort to arch over my head. I chose that moment to close the dryer door and "lose my balance" a little. I gave out a little squeak and reached for something to grab. Naturally, I had to grab something that was sticking out!
You should have seen him jump, diary! He almost whacked his head on the ceiling! And he let out a little yelp of his own that was on kind of a high note for a guy with such a deep voice.
I could tell I’d really embarrassed him and figured I’d better play it a little cooler. Besides, after what I’d just felt, I was ready for some more of Paul’s special treatment. Still, I wasn’t quite done with my game. I reached into the robe pocket, fumbled with the quarters and dropped one as I was putting them into the machine. It rolled under the bank of washers. I bent over to try and stop it, giving him a clear look at my thin silk panties stretched over my butt.
"Oh, shit!" was all I could say about losing the quarter. I’m not sure I sounded too convincing, but he didn’t seem to notice. I couldn’t stay bent over like that too long without making it really obvious what I was doing, so I knelt down on the cold tile floor to try and look under the machine for the missing quarter. I didn’t really care all that much about the money, of course. I was paying attention to the guy above me, who shuffled a little closer and asked if I saw it. I sat up, my head again at about crotch height, and looked up at him pleadingly. A girl’s best friend, in moments of crisis like this, are her eyelashes and some good flirting skills.
"No, it’s way back under there, I guess."
"Well, here," he offered, scrounging in his own pocket, " let me give you one of mine."
And as he dug in his pocket, looking down at me, I let the tip of my tongue slip out and wet my lips just the teeniest bit, then looked straight at the tent he’d pitched in his tailored shorts. Oh, my GOD! I was sooo hot, just knowing that I’d caused that! I can’t even tell you how tingly my pussy was and my nips felt like they were going to burn right through the velour robe. He handed me the quarter, finally, and I let him help me up so I’d have the excuse to lean into him just a little on the way up, grabbing his bare leg and exhaling a hot breath right on his dick as I rose. I held on to his arm just a touch longer than necessary, thanked him in that sincere, breathy way that always sends shivers up a man’s spine, and turned around to shove that last quarter in the slot and start the dryer.
I was way past ready for something to be shoved into my slot by then and was out of that stuffy little room in a shot—with a last little coy glance back over my shoulder to him as the door closed.
I almost pounced on Paul when I got back to his room, and this time I got a really good taste of him!
I didn’t get to see Paul for a few days after the weekend. We both had big tests that week and my mom kept coming up with stuff that we had to do as a family in the evenings. I got so HOT, though, thinking about Paul and dreaming about him.
At night, I played with myself before going to sleep and then, one night, it got so bad that I called him after I slid into bed, naked, and asked him to talk to me. I kind of lied and said I just needed to hear his voice so I could sleep, but what I really needed was to hear his sexy voice so I could get off like I hadn’t managed to in DAYS. And it still wasn’t enough. I realized that I needed to get him inside me before I was going to feel any real relief.
FINALLY, the weekend was coming up and Paul still hadn’t said anything about getting together. Another guy asked me out, but I was, like, totally not interested—even though I thought he was kind of cute and, just a week before, I’d been flirting with him like crazy to get him to invite me to a party. But I really was hoping Paul would call, so I said no to Other Guy and waited. Mandy saw the whole thing and looked at me like I was totally gone. She’d listened to me talk about this guy for two hours a couple of weeks ago, when Paul and I were still in the preliminary stages of things and I was still planning to date around this year. After class, she asked me and I told her there was someone else, but not who. It just didn’t feel right to say yet. Not until I saw him again.
On Friday, I was walking across campus on this beautiful, clear winter day, when I saw Paul coming toward me. If I were a guy, all I could think to say would be "wow!" I used to pride myself on my poetic streak, but all I can say is, I was SOAKING wet, and he was still twenty feet away!
He came up, smiling, very warm and sweet as always, He told me how beautiful I looked—and I did look good. It was kind of chilly, so I was wearing my slinky light sweater top, no bra—I just decided to toss all of them the other day, along with all my old panties. I don’t know, it just seemed like time to get some new underwear, but when I went shopping, all I bought were thongs! Mandy REALLY wanted to know what was up then, or, as she put it, WHO was up. Still, it didn’t feel right to tell her.
Anyway, I was also wearing my favorite low-rise jeans, so a little of my belly was exposed. He could probably see the top of my new thong panties if he watched my butt as I walked away. But he didn’t let me walk away. He asked me to go to dinner with him that night!
I hope it wasn’t TOO obvious that I was thrilled, but it was probably hard for him to miss my big smile, flirty eyelash batting and breathy "yes." God, diary, I embarrass myself SO much sometimes that, when I think of how stupid my little coy act must have looked, I turn red -- which is very funny, considering what happened a few minutes later.
But we’ll get to that in a second. So, we’re standing there on the sidewalk that runs alongside the quad, with the big oak trees dripping Spanish moss and stretching their shadows across this beautiful green lawn. I was feeling just incredibly lucky to be getting a date with this guy and realized, in that moment, that my feelings for him had really changed and deepened, just in the last few days. The other thing I was thinking was how impossible it would be for me to tell him what I’d been thinking about him the last few days and all the stuff I’d done while thinking of him and all the stuff I imagined him doing to me. And there was NO WAY any of that stuff or anything like it would ever happen, because nobody really DID things like that and, really, only dirty little girls even thought things like that—and they certainly never told their boyfriends.
In that moment, he touched my arm and whispered something in my ear. I don’t remember what, but my eyes closed for a long second and that little shiver I’d felt earlier, when I’d first seen him, bounced from Down There to the top of my head and back a couple of times, making a couple of side trips to the tips of my toes. He looked at me with those gorgeous eyes of his and said, "Do you have a minute right now?"
Next thing I knew, we were slipping into the theatre building, where I spent a lot of time. During the day, they conducted a few classes on the main stage and that’s where we headed, through a backstage door. I know I’ve written before about how cool this place is. It’s this beautifully ornate playhouse built in the Thirties that they recently renovated. It only has around 400 seats, which means it’s much smaller than most high school auditoriums, but it’s sure a lot more sumptuous. Paul led me across the stage and down the aisle to the back of the house. (I know the layout pretty well in here, since I’ve ushered a couple of shows already this year. You know how whiney I am about the department policy that freshmen usher five times before they get on stage!)
At this time of day, the whole building was dim and cool, lit only by a handful of sconces and a low glow from these big chandeliers above the seats. Paul guided me upstairs, into the balcony.
We went all the way to the back row, which still commanded a great view of the empty stage—one show had just closed and set construction for the next production hadn’t started yet. He shrugged out of his backpack and sat in the seat on the aisle, taking my books and putting them on the seat beside him, behind his backpack, so there was no room for me to sit or get by him into the row of seats. I stood next to him.
Anyone who walked onto the stage or into the first few rows on the main floor would be able to see us dimly, since the lights in the house weren’t up, but still they could probably make out who it was. It wasn’t a very big space. And right then, I didn’t care.
My tummy was fluttery and I was afraid I was soaking through my jeans. I was IN one of my fantasies—to be on the verge of physical intimacy—of getting laid, okay?!!--in a public space, a space where people who KNEW me might see me, where the little slut who’d lived inside my head and heart and, yes, my pussy since I was old enough to have a sexual imagination would finally be exposed, literally and figuratively. How did this man, with whom I’d only been acquainted for a few weeks, know me so well? How was it that I was willing to let him lure my inner slut out of hiding?
I kicked off my shoes, getting ready for whatever was coming next. I couldn’t wait to do what I thought he was about to ask me to do—but then he took it in a different direction than I imagined. One even MORE in tune with my rich fantasy life than I could believe.
"Take off your sweater," he said, in this deep, firm, powerful tone that further dampened my already damp pussy.
I took a deep, shuddery breath as I did what he commanded without even a second’s hesitation!
My GOD, diary, I can’t believe it even as I’m writing about it now. One minute, I’m walking to the library to do some research for my theatre history paper and the next, I was standing, topless, in a public place, absolutely dying for this yummy man to bend me over one of the plush theatre seats and slide his cock into me. My nipples, sensitive in the best of times, were like little pebbles—either from the super-cold, overly air-conditioned air or pure horniness, I couldn’t say. I licked my lips in anticipation, sure he was about to ask me to suck him off, which I absolutely couldn’t wait to do.
"Take off your jeans."
OhmyGOD! I did hesitate this time. His brow furrowed. I’d read that phrase in books, but never actually knew why it was supposed to indicate anything other than a headache--until I saw Paul do it. He has a very expressive brow!
The idea that someone might walk onto that stage and see us actually made it easier! (I can’t believe I’m writing this, but I swear that’s how it felt). But I’d waited too long. Paul wasn’t pleased. Seeing his displeasure, my hands went to work and, in a few seconds, I was standing in front of him in just my new little green thong panties. If he asked me to go further, there was one more surprise for him. But before we could get to my surprise, he had one more for me.
"Face down across my lap."
It’s hard to describe exactly what went through my mind right then. Looking him dead in the eyes, there was absolutely no way I was going to refuse anything he requested, commanded or even hinted at wanting me to do. At the same time, I was more frightened than I think I’ve ever been in my life—and more relieved. He was pushing me into a place that I’d never believed I could or would really go. So it’s a scary place, but an incredibly liberating place at the same time. This man was going to give me what I had always craved, open up things in me that I thought I’d have to keep hidden forever. Somehow, he knew a part of me that I didn’t think I’d ever be able to share with anyone—and I loved him for it. Not only loved him, but adored him.
The first blow of his bare palm of my butt was like a blessing. The slap of it echoed through the empty theatre. The sting of it went straight into my soul, fanning the fire that was already burning there into a roaring flame. My breath came in short, hungry gasps as the spanking continued. I know this all sounds kind of turgid and melodramatic, but I don’t really have any other words to describe it. I whimpered and bit my lip, not because it hurt so badly, although it did, but because the pain opened me up with each jolt, made me truly ME than I’d ever allowed myself to be. That pain represented my liberation, even as it made me his without reservation.
After several dozen blows to each round cheek, he stopped. I shivered and caught my breath for a few moments, sobbing very quietly, though it sounded like thunder in that empty theatre. My ass burned and I wanted more—but I knew that the punishment he’d given me was exactly right. Whatever he decided was right.
Then he shifted his legs, whispered that I should stand, and helped me get to my feet right in front of him, with my flaming red ass facing the stage. He was sitting in front of me, but I’m not all that tall, so our faces were very close.
When I finally looked him in the eyes again, he wore a very serious look.
"Don’t hesitate when I give you an order, Kim. Do you understand?"
I nodded through the streaks of happy tears on my face. I smiled, tentatively. He remained very serious. I knew the next test was coming.
"Lose the panties." The same even tone.
This time, I was delighted at being given the opportunity to obey promptly and surprise him all at the same time. I turned around, both to show him the bright redness of my butt cheeks and to stall the reveal for just a second longer. I waited with my fingers hooked around the tops of the thong at my hips, and I held off pulling them down almost long enough that he might think I was daring him to start the spanking all over again. Just before the seconds ticked from "pregnant pause" to "defiance," I bent over and eased the panties slowly down my legs. He seemed to like what he saw, because I swear I felt his eyes making little hot tracks on my butt—a butt which has been called "tight" and "cute" on more than one occasion. (And to think that tame comments like that used to embarrass me!) Right then, it was mostly red!
When I turned around, my little surprise worked just the way I hoped. His eyes widened and he gasped just a little bit when he saw that I’d shaved off all my hair down there.
"Do you like it?" I asked, in my best coy girl voice.
He only smiled as his eyes moved up my body. When he looked me in the eyes, he nodded. Then he surprised me.
"Touch it for me."
I was so wet that my fingers slid in with no problem at all and it felt SOOOO delicious! I parted my pussy lips and began to tickle my clitty very lightly. The burning sensations from my butt worked their way into my pussy from the back and the warmth of my own touch worked its way in from the front. My knees trembled and my eyelids fluttered. I slumped back against the cool stucco wall and the cold, rough textures of that surface added to the sensual overload. I could tell I didn’t need much of this to come, but I also have to confess that, good as it was going to be, it wasn’t the kind of orgasm I really needed.
In less than two minutes, I was on the verge of a nice, long cum, with one hand buried in my pussy and the other alternating between tweaking my nipples and kneading each breast. It felt really good, but I opened my eyes and looked at him, kind of wanton, I hoped, but probably a little pleading too. "Paul, please fuck me!"
He just smiled, the beautiful bastard, and said, "Maybe later tonight, baby. Why don’t you stop now."
That man! I let out a frustrated moan that was a lot louder than I realized, but did as he said. I couldn’t believe he was going to get me that close, then make me wait. I said so, but then he said something that sent another electric thrill straight to my pussy and almost made me go off right then and there.
"There’s a class starting in here any minute and I think I just heard the first students come in."
I turned in a panic, forgetting I was naked for a second, and looked into the theatre below. So far, no one was visible, but now that he’d called my attention to it, I heard voices. The house lights came up a few points and the lights on the stage came up to full! One of the students from the class, Jack Dalrymple, who was in theatre history with me, came out from backstage. He was quickly followed by Marilyn Hightower, a girl I’d known and cordially disliked since middle school. I leaned over Paul’s leg, reaching into the aisle for my clothes. He stopped me.
"Kneel down between my legs."
I saw where he was going now and couldn’t believe it! I also couldn’t believe how hot it made me! The carpet was rough on my knees, but then Paul pulled my sweater out of the aisle and handed it to me to kneel on. I looked up at him, my eyes glowing with the hunger I was feeling.
He smiled again, that warm, loving smile of his, and then nodded ever so slightly, whispering: "If someone looks up here, they’ll probably notice me sitting here. If they look closely, they might see the top of your head. I don’t want to get caught, but if we do, Professor Hawkins is a horny old goat and I bet he’ll give us a pass if you suck him too. Of course, if the students see us . . . "
My fingers had been busy at his fly while he said these nasty things to me and, by the time he was finished, I was pulling his hard, smooth cock out and devouring it! The idea of being caught, of being known as this horny little slut who would suck her boyfriend off while a class was going on just below us and who might even have to give a blowjob to someone to keep them quiet turned me on so much, I was trembling from head to toe. It was partially panic and mostly lust.
If my friends from high school could see me now! Prim Kim, naked, wet and sucking cock in the balcony of a theatre. I was worse than that big slut, Janie Cochran, who, if Torrance High hallway rumors were true, did a gang-bang with half the basketball team one night after a game. Oh, God! Marilyn Hightower was down there! If she saw --- just the idea of that smarmy, blonde bitch knowing that Prim Kim, Prom Queen and class valedictorian, was really a super-slut had me moaning around Paul’s vibrating cock. He seemed to enjoy the effect, so I hummed lightly as I sucked, daring the acoustics in the theatre to carry our sounds to the clueless ears below.
Maybe I wasn’t as far gone as Janie Cochran, yet—but the scary thing is, I think I would do something like what she’s rumored to have done if Paul asked. And the even scarier thought is that I’m starting to believe I’d like it!
(Diary, you know that I never enjoyed giving my first boyfriend head very much. Paul is so different! He tastes like this yummy, very hard éclair and his come is like ice cream. He’s much bigger than Matt was, but I can take him all the way into my throat without choking and just seem to know exactly what to do with my tongue, too. It’s weird, but it’s almost like I learned to give head better in my sleep!)
And all this is going on in my mouth, with his hands in my hair, pressing me into his crotch with these quiet little grunts coming from him – while this acting class gets started down below us and I can hear Dr. Hawkins, who taught my theatre history class too, gearing up to talk about the Russian acting guru, Stanislavski, and his influence on American film acting technique and it’s all so incredibly hot!!
By the time Paul came—simply BUCKETS, by the way, that I gulped down like it was Ben and Jerry’s Cherry Garcia—I’d already shuddered through three or four little orgasms of my own, brought on by the excitement of what we were doing and where we were doing it.
I stayed between his legs as he recovered for a minute. Then he reached down and picked up my clothes, stuffing them into his backpack! He leaned over to me and whispered in my ear again.
"That was great, Kim. We need to get out of here before he gets the class up on stage for warm-ups—but let’s play one more little game," He stood up and stepped into the aisle, pulled on his backpack and picked up my books. Always the gentleman, I thought, even as the irony of that notion in these circumstances almost made me burst out with a fatal fit of the giggles.
"I’m going to slip down the stairs," he whispered directly into my ear. "Give me a minute before you follow, ‘cause we’re less likely to attract attention that way. I’ll wait by the front lobby door with your clothes for five minutes, but if you’re not there by then, I’m gone—I have an appointment with my lit professor to talk about a paper in a few minutes."
Before I could protest, he was on his way down the steps. I crouched behind the chair, hotter than I had any right to be in that frigid space, frightened and STILL incredibly wet! I could smell the sex on me, too, and that made me even hornier!
And here’s the even weirder part—the more Paul did this kind of thing to me, the more he put me in positions where I might be exposed for . . . well, for the slut I guess I am . . . the more attracted to him I became and the more I wanted to do anything he asked of me!
I glanced around the back of the seat I was hiding behind and saw him reach the railing at the front of the balcony. The lights were much brighter than they’d been when we came into the theatre and, suddenly, Professor Hawkins, who was right in the middle of a point, pointed up at Paul and said, "Is that Paul R_____ up there?"
Paul stopped and he and the professor exchanged a few pleasantries while my eyes bugged out and my heart rate went up by at least fifty percent! Apparently, Paul had taken a dramatic lit class from Doc Hawkins last year and written a paper that touched on the very point Hawkins was just making! Any other time, I would have been interested in what they were saying, since I’m really into that stuff, but all I could think in that moment was, "WHY NOW?!"
"Oh, my, what a coincidence! I was just saying to the class blah-de-blah Your Paper bleh-de-bleh My Theory on Strasberg bluh-de-bluh, drone, drone, drone."
"Yes, thanks Professor. Yah-de-Yah. Interesting Idea of Yours Wah-de-Wah Tennessee Williams Zah-de-Zah Kazan and Brando Pickity-pocketah-pooh. . ." and I’m up here, thank you very much, starkers and wanting to be fucked and scared out of my mind and about to SCREAM if you don’t wrap this up and GO!
"And what are you doing in my balcony, Mr. R_____? Studying, eh? In that light? Well, younger eyes than mine, eh?"
Finally, after what seemed like forever but was probably only a couple of minutes, Paul proceeded down the stairs. But now I knew my window to get down there before he had to leave the lobby and go to his appointment was even smaller! And the Professor and his whole class were alert to the possibility of a presence on the balcony! Any more movement up here in the next few minutes would draw their attention immediately! It was going to make it that much harder for me to get to Paul and my clothes without being noticed.
As all this was running through my head, I was listening with half an ear to what Doc Hawkins was saying, trying to time my exit. It sounded like he was wrapping up his introductory remarks. If I didn’t move soon, the whole class was going to be up on the stage, warming up and getting ready for some acting exercises, and there would be fifteen pairs of eyes with a chance to see me, not just one. I took a deep breath and stood up.
The professor was still talking as I stepped slowly into the aisle and began to make my way down the short flight of steps to the front aisle of the balcony and then to the stairwell. I was about halfway down when Doc Hawkins, glanced in my direction—and stopped talking for a second. He’d seen me!
You could hardly tell, though, because he kept talking. There was, like, a little hiccup in his flow of words and then he just moved smoothly back into his point about how Lee Strasberg had corrupted Stanislavski when he developed the Method, but that it was a visionary corruption demanded by the technical demands of the emerging medium of film. (See, Diary, even when I’m wandering around, naked and horny and a threat to public order, I’m still a whore for knowledge!)
He looked up at me several more times as I made my way to the bottom of the steps, trying to be casual about it, but also trying to identify me. With his comment earlier about dim light and "younger eyes," I was wondering if he’d recognize me at all. I was just a freshman who sat in the middle of a big lecture class, not someone from a small seminar class who’d written a paper he’d really liked. I knew that, once I reached the stairwell, I’d be blocked from his sight and free to make a break for the lobby, but then, instead of speeding up to minimize his chances of identifying me, something made me slow down!
Diary, I really don’t know what happened, but in that heartbeat of a moment, I took in a breath of something BIG. Something shifted inside me. The fear and humiliation I was feeling were still there, still very sharp and hot, almost welling over and fueled by the excitement that was still there too. The boldness of what I was doing makes me wet just thinking about it, even now, days later. And yet, in that moment, I just decided, "What the hell—this is me and I am HOT! If he’s straight, he’s liking what he’s seeing and I’m going to make sure he knows he’s had a treat!"
I stopped dead, right at the rail of the balcony. It hit me right at my waist, so he couldn’t see my naked snatch, but the bare boobs were sure visible! I gave him a little wave and he glanced up again, staring right at me! I blew him a kiss. Then I spun around and, as his distracted gaze was causing the students in the seats below to shift and glance back in my direction, I darted into the stairwell!
I was pretty sure I made it to the stairs before anyone from the class saw me, but Professor Hawkins sure got an eyeful, probably including a glimpse of my bright red ass. He’d be able to pick me out of a crowd now, even if the crowd and I were fully dressed!
Breathless from horniness and the excitement of being seen, I sprinted from the steps to the side door, out of view of the lobby. Paul was turning to go when I arrived, but caught a glimpse of my streaking form out of the corner of his eye. That same sweet smile lit up his face. Even though he was playing this incredible power trip on me, his eyes were gentle and kind. He knew he was giving me a gift, even if it seemed like he was just exploiting me. It’s like he could see right into my soul!
He knelt down to pull the clothes out of his backpack, even as I stood, naked and trembling, looking around frantically to see if anyone was coming into the lobby.
He pulled the clothes out but, as I reached for them, he held them tightly and looked me in the eye. "How wet are you?"
"Ohmygod, I am soooo wet, Paul! I should be so mad at you and right now I’m scared to death—but I have never felt so hot and sexy in my life."
"Good. This is just the beginning, Kim. I’ll pick you up at eight tonight. Little black dress, matching thong, heels and bag, Nothing else."
With that, he let go of my clothes and I hugged them to my body. He opened the door, wide, and I stood there in the streaming sunlight—just as three guys and a girl walked by, probably headed for the dining hall. Paul held the door open, asking me casually if I was ready for my theatre history test. One of the guys got a good look and stopped dead in his tracks, grabbing one of the other guys. Soon, the whole quartet was stopped, looking back at him, to see why he’d stopped—and following his gaze to me. They saw me. I could tell by the shocked expression one guy gave me, and the smirks and leers from the other two guys AND the girl! They saw me all right—every inch of me.
Paul whispered to me one more time: "And whenever we’re in private, Kim, and the feeling moves you, you can call me ‘Daddy’"
I shuddered as one more tiny little orgasm swept over me. The door started to swing shut as he turned and headed away. Just before it closed, I looked right into the eyes of my four admirers. Didn’t know any of them, but it was a small campus. And, with some of that newfound feeling of freedom Paul had given me, I winked and blew them a kiss.
The solid whoosh and click told me that these doors were locked from the outside. I’d have plenty of time to vanish before they could find a way into the building, if they were inclined to try.
I stood clutching my clothes in the dimly lit lobby of the theatre,
the sound of Professor Hawkins’s class murmuring behind me, as tears of
deep joy drifting down my cheeks.
After our little adventure in the theatre building, I was really looking forward to our date that night. Based on the way she’d jumped right into my game, I was betting Kim was too. As much as the control I exercised over her turned me on, as I watched her reactions to what was happening, I saw a lot of what attracted me to her in the first place. She carried herself with a bold, mischievous attitude toward life. It showed up as flirtatious and coy, sometimes, but while I’d known her, she’d never hesitated to jump right in if the situation demanded that something be done. I’ve got to be honest and say that she seemed to possess a confidence I found myself lacking most of the time—at least in the bad old days before Q’injo. These days, I was feeling very much on top of things.
I arrived right on time, expecting to wait, sit with her parents making uncomfortable small talk, as I’d done on our earlier dates. She was a woman, after all, and the apple of mommy and daddy’s eye. I could tell Mr. G_______ was the protective sort. He’d grilled me pretty thoroughly on my Goals in Life the first couple of times I’d been there, but seemed to have relaxed a bit the third time.
Her mom was another story. She liked me fine from the minute she saw me (fooled her right off, in other words—or so I initially thought). Millie G______ was a well-put-together brunette, sharing Kim’s 4’11’ stature and nice ass, but with somewhat more on offer in the boob department. I could tell she was also the source of Kim’s sensuality and the sweet nature that attracted me to her in the first place. She was obviously one of those moms who becomes the favorite of all her kid’s friends: easy-going, funny, and still youthful in a good way, not that desperate thing some mom’s develop when their daughters start bringing home guys. Millie was invariably polite and welcoming to me, offering me a drink, making sure I knew it was cool to call her Millie, and telling Mr. G_______ (Byron, though he didn’t give me the impression it was cool to call him that) to turn off the game and talk with me while she was in the next room.
It struck me as a little odd, on the night of the second date, that Millie didn’t hesitate to let me know she thought I was an attractive guy, saying stuff like, “I’m starting to appreciate my daughter’s taste in men,” and “You’re so much cuter than her last boyfriend.” (Byron was so absorbed in the football game, I don’t think he even realized we were in the room). At the same time, like I said, she didn’t dress too young or have obvious piercings and tatts, or even wear too much make-up like most of the moms in the Please Mistake Me For Her Sister Club tend to do. Anyway, I was waaaay too focused on Kim at the time to notice anything out of the ordinary in the behavior of this woman who was old enough to be my mom, even if she sure didn’t look it.
Things took a turn to Weirdsville on the night of my third date with Kim—this was about three weeks ago now. Mr. Millie (Byron) had been out at some meeting. Millie and I stood in the kitchen, waiting for Kim, while Millie chopped vegetables for dinner. I was sipping at a nice little vodka tonic she’d made me. She had some white wine next to the cutting board and accidentally knocked it over.
Apparently the spare towels were in a drawer right where I was leaning and, rather than ask for them, she just stepped right up to me and reached for the drawer handle that was inches from my butt. I tried to step aside, but she kind of had me pinned, since she was only inches away and looking up into my face from the same angle that Kim does, frank appraisal in her eyes. She said, “You have very nice eyes, Paul.” I stammered out my thanks, finally managing to edge to the side so she could open the drawer she needed. As she stepped back, I caught a powerful whiff of clean, fresh woman and a hint of perfume, lingering from earlier in the day. Fumbling a bit for something to say, still surprised by her blatant invasion of my comfort bubble, I’d asked her what the perfume was.
As she mopped up the spilled wine, she said, “Top of the line Chanel.” Then mumbled something which I didn’t ask her to repeat, but finally translated as, “Give a girl a bottle of this and you’re guaranteed to get something back.” Now I know this all seems so blatant as I tell it, but I have to say that, at the time, it was more subtle than it sounds in retrospect. Besides, it would never really occur to that earlier version of me that Millie might be trying to tell me something. I think she realized she hadn’t gotten through, too, because when I think back on it, there was kind of an amused smile on her face for the next few minutes until Kim came out and we left for out date. In my defense, all I can say was, this happened pre-Q-injo and I notice that my sexual senses are now much heightened. I don’t think a hint that obvious would pass me by now, but at the time, I was in my Oblivious Man identity and so didn’t quite follow the thread all the way to the spool. Tonight, as I pulled up, I thought about that moment again and its real meaning flashed into my brain. Then I thought better of it. There’s no way I needed the grief that trying to make Kim’s mom would cause . . . although I now had the tools at my disposal to make it easier.
But it was date time and dad was probably sitting in the living room with the game on a his feet up, so I put on my best Eddie Haskell face, preparing for at least a few minutes of small talk and canned laughter with the ‘rents.
When Kim opened the door, I was surprised that it was her and not Millie, as it had been on the previous occasions. I almost took a step back from the impact of seeing Kim. No further thoughts of Millie that crossed my mind for a while.
I don’t know how to say “she was devastatingly beautiful” in a way that really conveys how exceptional Kim was in that moment. How do some girls do it? They take this essentially very simple dress, black, no frills, pull it on, go zip, zap, zing with the make-up, twist their hair around and blow hot air on it and, pow! My pulse accelerated and my dick, in parent-safe neutral seconds before, started its gradual progress through the stages of wood. (You know what I mean: you go from no-wood at all to balsa to pine to oak to teak . . . and then you switch to metal and run up THAT scale).
But enough about my hard-on. Kim was amazing. Innocent, sleek, alluring all at once—and as soon as she smiled, any intimidation-factor suggested by that description melted away and her inherent cute, playful side was back in full force. I wanted to take her in my arms and cuddle her, protect her and cherish her—and then slam her against the foyer wall and pound her until she screamed for mercy. Some women just have that quality. It’s like a talent—she can improve upon it or neglect it, but if she doesn’t have it in her, she’ll never learn it.
One of the great things about what I’d done to Kim was that I didn’t need a line with her. I could play the game if I chose, but didn’t have to bother anymore if I didn’t feel like it—but with her standing right there, looking like that, she’d earned every bit of genuine appreciation I had it in me to give her. Dispensing with the absolute need for all the dating bullshit was liberating, though, so when I said something about the flowers I’d brought for her not doing her justice, it wasn’t a hustle. I meant every word of it. She took the compliment and the flowers with grace, putting the latter into a vase before we left. The former went into that deep well of chick-memory that allows most women to recount, in detail, every nice, or every rotten, thing anyone has ever said or done to them.
In that moment, I was kind of wishing I’d never used the Q’injo on her, because I wanted her to fall in love with me on her own, without any hypnotic inducement. Then, as I turned us to the door to leave, she changed my mind.
She grabbed my arm as we stood in the doorway, leaning into me with her entire body and raised her mouth to my ear, where she whispered, “Daddy, I had to dry myself off for ten minutes down there before I put on my panties or they would have soaked right through. Are you as hot for me as I am for you?”
My dick (yes, we’re back on that subject again), already considering its options, gave another jerk. This was all unexpected, which was very much okay with me. She was exercising that independence of will that I’d made sure to incorporate into her conditioning. In other words, she was just being herself, only without any inhibitions she might have once felt about such behavior.
As I reached up to stroke her hair, she shuddered and moistened her lips. When I traced my fingers down her neck, she closed her eyes and bit her bottom lip, trying to contain the pressure that had clearly been building inside her at least since this afternoon, when I’d exposed her, had her play with herself and then suck me off without giving her satisfaction.
Come to think of it, that was kind of mean of me.
I leaned in to her ear, still not clear if there was someone about to walk in on us from one of the several doors that opened into the foyer. “What do you want, baby?”
Since her ear was now close to my face, I heard her when she whispered, “You. Now.”
Then I kissed her, ever so softly, on the ear, and traced my tongue down her satin-smooth neck. I’m such a tease!
From deep in her throat came a low moan of “Please!”
I pulled back and nodded, but with a questioning look on my face, as if to say, “Okay, but where are we doing this?”
She closed the front door softly, put a finger to her lips to signal me to silence, then grabbed my hand and led me down a hall to the back of the house and her bedroom.
I was looking around, more interested in the possibility of parents or siblings seeing us than in the décor, though it was a nice place—definitely upper middle-class with taste. Big, too. I’d never gotten past the front door when picking her up for previous dates and made a mental note to ask her about her dad’s line of work.
Once in her room with the door closed behind us, she said, “My dad’s working late, my mom’s on the phone and I want you so much, I can’t wait any longer!”
With that, she thrust her small, manicured right hand down the front of my pants and grabbed my iron with those talented fingers even as she pressed her mouth into mine.
Despite my gut instinct to just go with it, I pulled away, leaving her panting. Two rules I’d already developed about exercising control in this direct way were these: take charge from the outset and fewer words were better. Still, I had to check something out.
“Can your mother hear us in here?”
“Not from her room.”
“What if she comes downstairs?’
“She won’t,” and I could see the need growing in her face and hear the pant in her voice as she saw that she was getting close to a good dicking. “She’s talking to her sister and they always go on for hours.”
I knew that was no guarantee that they’d do it this time, but I was excited and she was obviously craving it. I had to teach her that she could have it when she wanted, but on my terms—and the risk of being caught was adding to the thrill for both of us, as it had earlier in the afternoon.
As I sat on the edge of her bed, I glanced around. Behind me, in a pile two feet deep against the headboard, were stuffed animals of every variety. It was a typical young woman’s room in many ways, with photos and mementos of high school and adolescent celebrity crushes dominating a room that still hadn’t fully matured out of girlhood. The girl in question, looking fully matured into her lust anyway, quivered like a tuning fork, waiting to see what I wanted from her.
I looked her steadily in the eye with a confidence I didn’t fully feel, then said,“Take off the dress. We wouldn’t want it to get messed up.”
She blew me away when I first saw her at the front door not five minutes ago. The slow, seductive way she stood, slung her feet, one at a time, onto the bed beside me to unstrap her sandals, then reached behind herself and unzipped that dress just ground away at what little restraint I still had. She shrugged the dress off her shoulders, then let it fall gently to the ground, revealing those taut nipples on her small, upturned breasts, a gracefully fluted waist and slim but supple hips. There was that black thong I’d asked for. She turned, her body dancing in and out of the dim light cast by the small reading lamp beside her bed and hung the dress on a hanger, then stretched her slight frame to slip the hook over the top of the closet door. The twin globes of her ass beckoned and I knew what I had to do.
When she turned back to me, I swear to you, my heart skipped a beat. Her body in that light, with heels and the thong, was fabulous, but really it was her eyes. They looked at me with a passion and adoration I was finding more and more addictive. As it turned out, this was a very appropriate metaphor for what was going on for her as well.
I held out my hand for hers and she took it, stepping toward me at my gentle tug.
That darling nibble at the lower lip betrayed her excitement. I was beginning to identify that as a sign of her profound arousal.
Her “Yes, daddy,” was almost inaudible. And the, still tentative but with a hit of determination, “But can I ask you something before we . . . before you start, please?”
I nodded.
“I . . . I’m not sure how to say this,” and she had to look away, which made her even more appealing, in that moment, than I could have imagined possible, even after the emotional tugs I’d felt just looking at her all evening—hell, all day! I mean, she was already mostly naked and trembling with excitement—how much more could I want? And yet, there it was. Shyness layered on top of all that other stuff just made me realize I had to have her right then and there.
“What is it, Kim?”
“I don’t know what you had in mind right now. I think it’s what I’m wanting, but I’m not sure so I just . . . I have to ask . . . I need you to . . . to fuck me, please. I need it so much and I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but I feel like, if I don’t get it soon, I’m going to . . . I don’t know . . . get sick or something. I try to play with myself and think of you and it’s really good, but it just doesn’t really get me there and I know you can do it for me. I think . . . I know you’re the only one who can.”
She stopped talking for a minute and looked back at me. She must have seen the slight bafflement on my face and I think it scared her, because words started to come out of her in a rush—and I felt a chill run from my stomach right into my balls as the full importance of what she was saying dawned on me.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she continued, “but I’ve been – well, it’s been hard to think about anything but you all week. I dream about you at night and I think about you constantly all day and then, today, the things we did . . . oh, God, I’m such a slut! And you made me do it and I should be mad, but I’m not. I was scared, but so hot, especially when Doctor Hawkins saw me, and, like I said, I should be mad, but I’m not because I LOVED it. And. . . and I love you because I love who I am when I’m with you. And I love that you still want me, even after I behaved like that!
She took a gasping little breath, then plunged right back into the story of her feelings. Her hands twisted fetchingly in the air, giving form to the tumble of words.
“I mean, it started the other day, when I came by your place and we . . . we did it for the first time. That was fantastic. But then I did something that I’d never done before and I stuck my hand inside my pussy after you filled me up. . . and I had your stuff . . . your cum on my fingers. . . and I licked it . . . and it was SO good! I’ve thought about that a lot in the last few days and I think that was when I knew you were it for me, forever and always. I know it sounds so cheesy, but you can’t feel what it feels like inside my head. In my heart. I just know. It’s like knowing an apple is red or knowing how to breathe without thinking about it. Some things just are what they are and you are . . . something about the way you are with me and the way I get when I’m with you, I’m. . . it makes me . . . free. And I want you to always, always, always be my daddy.”
I had to sit there a minute and take it all in. This was what I wanted—but I’d tried to get it without the consequences Jim had warned me about. He told me that any woman who tasted my come within an hour after consuming the Q’injo would be addicted to me—very strongly addicted to me and my cum, that she’d be my “slave,” in whatever way I decided to define that for her. He’d emphasized that I should be careful about allowing that heavy imprinting to happen, because it meant the woman was going to be dependent on getting some from me on a regular basis from then on. “From then on” implied “forever” and THAT was a level of commitment that had never crossed my mind before.
Kim stood in front of me, her eyes locked on mine. We really looked at each other inside and out in that moment, I think, for the first time. I’d flipped a switch in her somewhere deep with my conditioning and subsequent treatment of her. Ever since I saw her on campus today, a similar switch in me had been under pressure to flip—and once it went, it was the difference between “off” and “on,” dark and light, casual and committed. It wasn’t any kind of conventional commitment, but then I had tossed “conventional” out the window when I tossed that powder in her Diet Pepsi and let her drink it.
That’s when I realized it was a done deal. I could be scared if I wanted, but it didn’t change anything. As my dad always told me, a man lives up to the responsibilities he incurs, even when he didn’t realize he was incurring them. She was mine and I had to do something with her. Right now, the precise nature of that something was pretty fucking obvious. The rest would have to take care of itself as we went along.
I stood, grabbed her around the waist and pulled her into me. “It’s going to be all right, Kim. Daddy’s going to make everything all right.”
Her smile of gratitude melted into a lustful pout as I lifted her from her feet, spun her around and tossed her onto her own bed. Her legs came up and I hooked my fingers into the waistband of the thong, dragging it up those fantastic legs, over those delicate feet with their red-painted toenails, and tossed them to the floor. I leaned over and kissed her deeply. Her passion flowed into me through her tongue and her fingers as they unbuttoned my shirt and stroked my chest and grasped hungrily at my chest hair. I stood and pulled off my shirt, then hung it over the corner of the closet door. (Hey, we still had dinner reservations!) Shoes and socks came next. Then, as I stripped off my pants and underwear, I said, “Play with yourself, baby. I want to see you open up for me.”
She did as she was told, like the good girl she was proving to be, and I was treated to the sight of her naked pink lips pealing back under the gentle ministrations of her fingernails, painted to match her toes. It spurred my efforts to get the pants folded over the back of a chair and get down to business.
Went I made it to the bed, I immediately rolled her over and hauled that gorgeous butt into range, then slammed into her from behind. That tight little cunt I remembered from last weekend welcomed me like a moist hello and I started in with a tight, fast rhythm to which Kim responded like a thoroughbred. Her not-so-breathy screams of joy were fortunately muffled by the pile of stuffed animals. At one point, I actually saw her bite into the leg of a teddy bear to stifle a shout. We had to slow down for a moment while I grabbed another stuffy—a particularly battered elephant, I believe, and jammed it between the headboard and the wall to reduce the banging noise and facilitate the actual banging. She took the moment to whisper a throaty “Faster!” to me. I honored the request.
When she came—which did not take very long at all--it was a convulsion that started deep inside her as her pussy clamped down on my cock, then roiled up through her belly into her hips, back and, finally, poured out into her arms and legs. When she couldn’t support her own slight weight any more, I pulled her back to the edge of the bed so I could stand behind her and keep thrusting, using my arms to hold her in place. I kept at it until the squeezing, the heat and the risk of what we were doing combined to send the cum boiling from my balls. She went off again as I jetted into her, flopping helplessly beneath me, impaled on my still-hard rod.
I fell beside her on the bed and, before I could even begin to catch my breath, her mouth was wrapped around my deflating prick, licking me clean as if her life depended on extracting those last few drops of cum.
What a woman! Her licks were punctuated with gasps of “ohgod, ohdaddy, ohgod.” I figured that, in her universe right now, I was both. And, strangely enough, for a guy who had never before seriously considered the realities of a long-term relationship, I was feeling very sanguine about having this kind of action for the rest of my days with this particular woman. For the first time, but certainly not the last, I wondered if the Q’injo might be having as strong an effect on me as it was on her. Even though I wasn’t sure how THAT could be the case, since I’d never consumed the stuff myself, I figured I’d better remember to give my old buddy Jim a call.
After a reasonable time and the temptation to go right back at it once we’d recovered some—she felt she had to “thank me” for giving her what she needed, y’know-- we managed to get ourselves out of the sack and start putting our public selves back together.
After she slipped her dress back on and touched up her make-up, Kim picked up her sodden panties from the corner where they’d ended up. Swirling them around her index finger, she smiled a wicked little smile and said, “Should I wear these or get a fresh pair?”
Feeling equally emboldened by what we’d just done, right there in her bedroom with her mom only yards away, I said, “How about no panties at all?”
Her eyes widened, but so did her smile.
“Paul, you are so naughty! You are going to embarrass me to death one of these days, you know,” she replied, but she tossed the used panties onto a pile of dirty clothes in her closet and didn’t go to her drawer for a fresh pair.
“I think you underestimate what that might take, Kim. But I’m certainly going to try and find the edge of that envelope.”
“Well, I think I might still have a surprise or two for you too, baby,” she said as she took my hand and led me from her room.
We managed to slip out of the house, her mom none the wiser. Although
I did think I caught a hint of Chanel in the hallway. The top of the line
stuff.
The Q'injo experience came from Kim's perspective in the second chapter, as she wrote in her diary about events in the laundry room on that first day and then an encounter with Paul on campus later that week.With the third chapter, Paul returned to narrative duty and told the first part of the story of his first post-Q'injo date with Kim. I just got this next piece of the tale the other day and after editing it, I forward it to you. My apologies for the long delay between this and the previously-published chapters. Paul has been, understandably, occupied with other things, and I've benefited from that "busyness" myself, which accounts for my distraction. There's another of the "missing" chapters sitting in my computer, waiting to be edited, and Paul promises more to follow after the already-published Chapter 6 as well. (I'm as anxious to read more about Susan as you are, believe me.)
Do us all a favor: don't reprint or republish this anywhere without seeking permission first. It's just tacky and abridges creator's rights generally. You never know when you might actually have an original thought of your own worthy of committing to paper. Just think how upset you'd be if somebody else took the sweat of your brow and claimed it for their own, or stuck it somewhere you didn't want it to be. And if, despite this, you still decide to steal the work-well, your Mama didn't raise you right and, as I've said before, I don't envy you your karma.
-- Janus
I consoled myself by recalling that I'd had my share of crappy relationships, bad dates, and long, dry stretches before things turned around--and, besides, some guys just were beyond help. It eventually occurred to me that there were a couple of buddies of mine on whose behalf I might be able to intervene, if the opportunity presented itself, but I was enjoying myself so much that the thought of sharing the wealth didn't linger too long. And then, as is so often the case, the first such opportunity presented itself in the situation faced by my old pal Matt.
When I was planning my first real date with Kim since dosing her with Q'injo, I decided to take her to a restaurant where I used to work. It was an upscale Italian place with a great wine list where I'd made some serious bank for more than a year, until things got weird between me and this waitress. It had been a few months since I'd been in, so I called Matt, who still worked there, just to check things out.
Matt was glad to hear from me and, while talking with him, I realized a couple of things. First, he was a pretty cool guy to hang with, which I'd kind of forgotten in the months since I'd left the restaurant. Second, he was having a relationship crisis of his own . . . and what I could do for him might be a big help, while having the extra-added benefit of giving me a sweet taste of revenge.
Here's the backstory, brief as I can make it:
The thing with Yana was hot, nasty, and a little dangerous. She was pretty temperamental and I guess I wasn't the height of maturity and discretion myself, but that was kind of part of the fun. Rose and Matt would always tease Yana about starting fires wherever we went just because she couldn't wait to drag out the hose. Usually, it was my hose, though I suspect there were times when I wasn't handy and she used someone else's.
Like I said, it was very hot, nasty and loads of fun-for a while, but then she started getting manipulative with me, trying to get me to go out when I didn't want to, stay in when I wanted to go out-not because she really wanted one thing or the other, but just because she wanted to feel in control. And all the while, I knew it wasn't that she really liked me for much more than my dick and my tongue. I mean, we had fun, but we didn't have all that much in common with the lights on and she never expressed a bit of interest in my life, while expecting me to be fascinated with every friggin' detail of her vapid existence.
The natural ground for most of Yana's manipulations was sex. Once I got that the sex could be incredible, she turned into a tease, getting me going and keeping me going all night, then shutting me down when I wanted some follow through. I mean, once or twice this happens and you figure, "Ahhh, she's just being flaky." But then the power trip came into focus. When she started in on the flirting with other guys while we were out together, then told me I was imagining things when I caught her at it, I figured enough was enough-but the dick was still willing and the willpower was weak, so I hung in.
Finally, one night, after we had a knock-down drag out over the way she was coming on to another waiter at the restaurant, followed by some very hot make-up sex in the employee locker room at Gio's, we went to the Lizard to meet Matt and Rose, as we usually did on Saturday nights. Fifteen minutes into that part of the evening, Yana decided I was checking out the other talent in the place-in particular this slinky, exotic black chick with dreads and a really prominent pair of nipples. It wasn't an unfair charge, I just didn't think it was really that big a deal, since she was constantly looking at other guys and often pointed out hot chicks for my perusal.
She started in on me, playing all faux-jealous (like I hadn't just been giving her the business twenty minutes before, after accusing her of the same thing) and, when I didn't give her the response she wanted-didn't deny it and, thus, collaborate in stoking the fire again--she tossed a drink in my face. And it wasn't even her drink!
I sat there for a second, wearing my own very expensive vodka martini, wanting to respond in kind, but thinking it over as every eye in the place turned toward us. She was looking at me like she expected the fun to start now, her mouth slightly open, her eyes lidded. It hit me like a high school bully's sucker punch: the shouting, screaming, public drama was foreplay for her, and it was never going to change. She wasn't going to get any more interesting out of the sack, either. If the great sex was worth the manic ups and downs, then I should soak her and get the ball rolling. If not . . .
I just stared her down for about twenty seconds before telling her that I was over the soap opera games and she could find her own way home. I waved to Charity, tossed a twenty on the table so Matt wouldn't have to cover our round of drinks, and left. Everyone in the place was staring at her. Matt later told me that it finally dawned on her that she was the bitch without a partner to play the rest of her scene. She'd left a few minutes later and called in sick at work for a couple of days until the sting wore off. We worked together for a few more weeks, but then school started and I left.
Apparently, she bad-mouthed me for weeks afterwards, making out like I'd left because I couldn't bear to face her, but Matt and Rose were on my side and everybody kind of knew what Yana was about anyway.
This was three months ago. Even though I'd seen Matt and Rose a time or two at the beginning of the semester, it had been a while since we'd last hung out, so when I called, he sounded kind of surprised. Then he filled me in on what was going on with the old crew. Charity had moved on from the Lizard and was now managing a club of her own, financed by dear old daddy, in Boca. He and Rose had moved in together about six months ago. I asked about Yana and I could tell something was up.
"She's still there," and then, after a pause, "Man, I really admired the way you ended that. Little bitch can really fuck with you, y'know?"
I asked what was up and he spilled it. Yana and Rose were having an affair.
After I reassembled the pieces of my dropped jaw, I think I managed a gargled, "Whathefuck?!" before Matt launched into his tale of woe.
Rose was this slender red-head-that kind of burnished copper red, and straight and long. Waaaaay more gorgeous than Matt thought he deserved. Her nose was dusted with the lightest spray of freckles when she wasn't wearing base, and she favored clothes that accentuated her very nice pair of C-cup boobs and a fine, round ass that swayed like a palm tree in a tropical breeze. I mean, she was model beautiful, and had that kind of poise and reserve you expect from a much older woman, but she wasn't stuck up about her looks at all. In fact, you could tell from this adorable shy smile she'd give you whenever her gorgeousness was the topic of compliment or conversation, that she didn't have a clue about how she affected guys. In other words, the exact opposite of Yana.
I'd always wondered what a taste of Rose would be like, but she and Matt seemed really tight, so I never found out or even really tried to. What a first-rate piece of class like Rose saw in Yana, I couldn't figure at first-until I remembered the raw, sensual and sexual impact that just being around Yana could have on you. And if I were to be honest about it, Rose and Yana having a passionate, if short-lived, affair made more sense to me than Matt and Rose as a long term prospect. He always struck me as the kind of guy who was going to settle down with someone, have a half-dozen kids, and get fat watching football and drinking brews, whereas Rose . . . well, Paris, London, New York and a life among the fashionistas seemed more her speed.
Turns out, Rose "discovered" she was bi one night when she and Yana went out to a lesbian club for kicks and ended up doing a mutual muff-dive in the backseat of Rose's Honda in the parking lot.
Matt didn't find out they were an item for a few days, but then he came home to grab lunch unexpectedly and there they were, the love of his life and her Latina lover, sixty-nining in the bed he and Rose bought for their new apartment together.
Yana left after finishing Rose off-not embarrassed at all, according to Matt, which sounds about right. He and Rose fought for hours after, ending up exhausted after some make-up sex that rocked both of their worlds and confirmed Matt in a confusion similar to the one Rose was experiencing herself.
Rose didn't want to give Yana up, but said she was still in love with Matt and just hoped he'd understand and let her "experiment" for a while before tying her down. Matt didn't want to give Rose up and, being a nice guy and a bit of a doof, he agreed to try to give her some space, even though it hurt like hell. And as if things weren't already fucked up enough, a few nights later, Yana cornered Matt in the restaurant freezer near the end of a shift and said that she had a solution that might work for all three of them. Then she went down on him. Matt said, "I wanted to slap the grin off her, but she got that hot little hand down my pants and I was toast, dude." I could hardly blame him, since the mere thought of Yana on her knees in front of me in that freezer-she'd done me in the same place a couple of times-got my dick twitching.
Since Yana's surprise BJ gift to Matt, he and Rose and Yana had done a few threesomes, but it never felt right to Matt and he didn't think Rose liked it much either, preferring to keep the two relationships separate. Even though the girls tried, he usually ended up feeling like a slightly annoying sex accessory, without the benefit of a vibrate function.
I really felt for the guy. Clearly, Yana was still playing her bitch goddess games and he and little Rose were her latest pawns. It was the obvious pain in Matt's voice that made me decide to help him out. My chance to give back to the community, as it were.
I told him to tell the girls that I was coming in that night with my new girlfriend and that we should all go hang at the Lizard after shift, just like in the old days. Turns out Matt had taken on some bartending shifts at the Lizard to help he and Rose save for a house, so he'd be working there that night after getting done at Giovanni's. Instead of saying, "You chump, quit the job and tell her if she wants a fucking house, she needs to kick Yana to the curb!" I said that his being a bartender that night would be even better. I'd be able to watch Rose and Yana together, get Kim's input, and evaluate the situation. "Maybe," I told him, "We can put our heads together and see a way to help you guys work this out."
All this happened on the afternoon after I got back from the theatre, where I'd left Kim, naked, trembling, and more turned on that she'd ever been in her life. So, that night, when I picked her up for the date-and fucked her very smart little brains out on her pink coverlet-I had already hatched a nefarious plan to settle Yana's hash, set Matt and Rose up for life, and expand my adventures with Kim into some new territory.
Night before last, Friday night, after that AMAZING day in the theater, Paul promised to take me out. He brought me the nicest bunch of flowers and I brought him to bed. Yes, I finally got him to give me what I'd been longing for all day-if I'm honest, all WEEK. And in my own bed, with Mom upstairs on the phone and totally clueless! I felt like even more of a naughty little slut girl than I had when Doctor Hawkins saw me on the balcony!
Then I jumped head-first into the deep end. I don't know what possessed me to tell him how I was feeling about him, but then, I couldn't tell you why I have become totally obsessed with this guy since we first made love. Besides, if I have one fault in love, it's that I'm kind of quick to fall in and slow to get out. Why should last night have been any different?
Anyway, I told him how I just knew he was it for me and he was just as wonderful as I thought he'd be, even though I was scared when I said it. So we started off the night just right: sweet, romantic, but with five or ten of the most satisfying orgasms I'd managed to have in DAYS. I get the shivers just thinking about it.
But that was just the beginning. When we walked out of the house, I was in my favorite little black dress with the v-nick that absolutely forbids a bra and the shirring at the waist, which turns into little pleats in the skirt. It's the dress Tina Nichols called "The Terminator" when I wore it to the opening night party for Romeo and Juliet last month and completely upstaged Juliet herself, that witch Marilyn Hightower. So that and my best black pumps were the sum total of my wardrobe that night, if you don't count my necklace and rings! That's right. Paul wouldn't let me put my thong back on or change into a new one. The cool breeze gliding across my wet pussy and thighs felt so wicked! It was the same feeling I got at Ricky Mansfield's pool party after the Homecoming win senior year, when the cheerleaders lost that stupid bet-but I already told you that story.
<I haven't edited it yet, but Paul sent me this diary entry the other day. Very hot. I'll get to it soon. - Janus
Paul is, by the way, a real gentleman. I mentioned the flowers he brought, which were gorgeous. When we went to the car, he held the door for me, then hopped in beside me. It was a perfect night for the convertible. December in Florida can be wet, but there are times when it's perfect-cool and clear, without that nasty bite of winter you get up north.
He'd planned a nice dinner at a very ritzy Italian place where he used to work called Giovanni's. Several of the wait staff were still friends of his, so he made it sound more fun than stuffy and I was all for that. Then we were going dancing, which just made my head spin a little. You know how I love to dance, but you know how I get after a couple of drinks when the beat is pounding through me, diary! I mean, I've written to you about how exciting it is to be pressed onto a dance floor with all those sweating, writhing bodies and. . . well, I always thought it was really sexy. But I'd never gone dancing without underwear before and a thrill of anticipation went through me at the thought! Paul must have felt the goosebumps on my arm, because he smiled and said he wanted to show me off. He meant it in a way that made me proud, but also got me wet all over again.
The drive took longer than I expected, but Paul and I slipped into a really interesting conversation about movies and music. We never mentioned the activities of earlier that day or even a few minutes ago. Again I was reminded how much I genuinely liked him. He was insightful and funny, on top of all the other great things I've already mentioned. He said some really sweet things about me that had nothing to do with how hot he thought I was. I got the feeling that he hadn't liked a woman the way he liked me in a while, and that maybe there was somebody in the not-too-distant past that hurt him a lot.
[Hey, this is Paul with a quick note: Kim's a very perceptive girl, but we knew that. What she didn't realize was that the drive to the restaurant took longer than expected because I pulled into a park on the way and put her under. I didn't so much change anything as open up a few more alternatives that I hadn't thought of the first time, when I was doing hypnosis on the fly. I won't spoil the surprise by telling you exactly what I did-we'll talk about that AFTER you've read the rest of Kim's account.]
When we walked into the restaurant, I was impressed. It was warm and cozy, kind of dark in the corners, with understated music and an efficient looking, but very young and attractive staff. Paul's friend, Rose, was the hostess. When he introduced us, she was really warm and sweet to me. I thought she was stunning and, as we followed her into the dining room, her long red hair swaying above a really nice butt and long legs just confirmed it. For a second, I was jealous. She'd known Paul before me and she was so pretty. There's no way he couldn't have been interested in her and maybe he still was, even if she was with this Matt guy. And then I realized I'd been checking HER out, and maybe Paul was the one who ought to be jealous!
Then I felt some of that warm coziness between my legs as I noticed all the men's heads turning to look at us. It was a mostly older-than-us, but not older crowd. Prosperous looking people in their twenties and thirties. And the obvious envy of Paul on the men's faces made me really happy. I knew my tanned, bare legs looked good contrasted with the black dress and the plunge in the neckline pointed right where most of them wanted to go. As sexy as Rose was, their glances moved past her and came to rest on me. "The Terminator" was doing its work. And then the women, looking at Paul, made it clear that they envied me too. All of the attention and the repressed sexual energy it implied turned me from simmer to slow boil in the space of the few seconds it took us to follow Rose to our little booth in the back corner.
As we arrived at the booth, Paul whispered something in my ear that threatened to turn my slow boil into steam.
"Don't sit on your skirt. Bare ass on the seat."
The order sent a jolt right through me, taking me back to earlier that afternoon in the theatre, when I was naked and anticipating the humiliation of being seen. He wanted my naked ass and pussy on the seat and Rose was right there, so she'd probably see me flip my skirt up in back as I slid into the booth. Not to mention what the people at the neighboring tables might see. And then there was the next thought: what is he going to make me do after that?
I knew there was no way to avoid obeying, although I considered taking a spanking later-but figured Paul knew I'd enjoy that too much and would devise something even more humiliating than he already had planned if I tried to dodge. As Rose leaned over the table to set our menus down, I took a deep breath, flipped up my skirt and hopped into the booth. Scooting across the seat, the cool leather did some very nice things to my bareness and, by the time Paul met me in the middle of the booth's seat, I was blushing furiously and breathing a little harder. I glanced around at the people nearby, trying to tell if anyone had been looking, and thought I detected a bit of a smirk on the face of a middle-aged gentleman having dinner with some colleagues at the table next to ours. Had he seen anything? Rose looked at me quizzically. Had she seen something too? Or maybe she'd even overheard what Paul had ordered? There was no way to tell from her expression. She might just have been wondering how we'd met.
She looked us both over and said, "Matt tells me we're all doing the Lizard after work. Yana's pretty excited."
I thought I detected a little up-tick of Paul's eyebrow when Rose mentioned her friend, Yana, but I couldn't be sure. Paul glanced at me, then answered for both of us, "Yeah, we're good with that plan. It'll be just like old times." I thought an odd expression crossed Rose's face when Paul said that, but I wasn't really trusting my instincts right then. "Tell Matt to come over when he has a chance."
She said she'd do that, gave Paul a quick kiss on the cheek, saying how good it was to see him, then left us with the menus. I leaned in to Paul and whispered, "I'm scared I'm going to leave a wet spot on the seat!" He smiled that melts-my-heart smile and replied, "Oh you will. But concentrate on the menu first."
We'd barely opened them before Matt sauntered up to the table.
He's the kind of guy I've mentioned to you before, diary, as a "cuddle bear" guy--sweet, sincere, gentle and soooo not my type. Not that I don't appreciate those qualities, but they need to be accompanied by more spine than guys like Matt generally have. And physically, he was some other girl's dream-body. He wasn't fat or anything, but he gave you the feeling that he was . . . well, padded, and fuzzy from head to toe and had a soft, marshmallow center.
Anyway, Paul introduced us. They did the very brief version of catching up, since he was busy with a full station. Turns out he and Rose had moved in together about six months ago and celebrated their one-year anniversary as a couple just last week. He was obviously really into her and I guessed that, if she'd agreed to move in, she'd decided she was into him too.
Just before he went back to work, Matt looked over his shoulder at the floor and gestured to a waitress working her way towards us. He glanced at me, then looked back a Paul. With a hint of humorous warning in his voice, he said, "You know Ileana's got this section tonight."
Paul smiled back and added a bland, "Oh, really?" but I could tell something was up. I gave Paul a look and Matt just grinned again as he walked away. Then Ileana reached our table and greeted Paul and I knew. Call it women's intuition or just admit that I'm a brilliant observer of human nature, but it was clear to me after watching them together for about three seconds that they'd been lovers and it hadn't ended all that well. He wasn't tense or uncomfortable at all, and she didn't seem to be either, but there was just something about the way she looked at him and the way he looked back, plus the tone of their voices that made it seem like they were both kind of waiting to see what the other was going to do.
I was burning with curiosity, but had to hold it in while Paul introduced us. Then they talked, mostly about people and places I didn't know. The good thing about moments when people are talking with each other and kind of ignoring you is it gives you a chance to analyze the relationship. Here was another woman that I knew Paul found attractive. I wanted to figure out what it was about her that had worked for him, and see if it still did work by watching him interact with her.
No question, Yana, as he called her, was a hottie. She was my height, so obviously he had a thing for small women. The men's white dress shirt and the stupid pop art tie she had to wear, both part of the waitron uniform, made it hard to gauge her boobies accurately, but they were clearly bigger than mine, which wouldn't be hard, since most tangerines are bigger than mine!
But the black uniform slacks she wore were tight around her butt and thighs. I found myself staring at her really great ass and speculating on what looked to be some very well-toned legs! In fact, I thought, she looked like she was probably a gymnast or had been at some point in the recent past. I pulled my eyes off her butt and noticed that her face was stunning. She had this toast-brown skin that looked like it might taste really sweet and these very dark brown eyes framed by a pile of curly, black hair. When she smiled-even the tight, hesitant smile she gave Paul-her eyes got into the game. They-- and she--simply sparkled.
And for the second time that night, I realized I was checking out another woman!
Now, diary, I've told you that I sometimes notice other women, but except for that one little incident with Tina Nichols at the pool party, I'd never really been, y'know, into girls. But tonight, with Paul right there to make it safe, even as I was a flutter of fabric away from complete humiliation, I couldn't take my eyes off this girl who stood there, talking about the specials and the wine list with my boyfriend and giving me sidelong glances that made me think maybe she was checking me out too.
After a couple of minutes of verbal parry-and-thrust with Paul, she started to relax a bit. I guess she realized he was going to be a gentleman about whatever it was that they had in their history. She asked me where we met, I told her. Then she asked about my major. Wow! Suddenly, it was like we were long lost sisters or something. She wanted to talk about the theatre department and the shows I'd done and the shows she'd done. Turns out, she'd been an actress in high school and was taking off a couple of years before starting college. Before she left the table, she reached out and touched my hand very softly, then said, "We're going to be great friends, I can just tell."
As soon as Paul ordered us some wine and an appetizer, Yana left and I pounced. "So, what's the story with her?"
He smiled, sighed, and told me.
"Ileana and I dated for a few months last year. I never thought she thought it was anything serious, so I broke up with her after she threw a drink in my face in a club one night."
He just sat there, pretending he thought that was going to be enough to satisfy me. When I finally jabbed him with my elbow, he continued, grinning.
Then he told me that, although Yana was really cool in a lot of ways, she was very manipulative with her sexuality. Well, okay, that's not how he put it. What he said was, "She uses sex like a deadly weapon." He gave me a couple of other stories he'd heard about her before their break-up which helped him to make the decision. One of them involved Yana breaking up a marriage by seducing the wife AND the couple's son (on different occasions) and the other was about her starting a fight in a lesbian bar by promising to go home with two different women in the same night.
"So," I said, "she's dangerous and that makes her even more attractive, right?"
And he looked me right in the eye, slipped his hand onto my thigh and caressed me from my knee right up to my shaved, very damp slit, and said, "Well, what do YOU think?"
I turned a few shades of red and my breath caught in my throat, even as his wiggling finger pulled a confession out of me.
"She's hot. You can tell by that little glint in her eye that she's good in bed. I can see why you wanted to date her."
"I didn't really want to date her, but I did want to fuck her and dating was the socially approved way to get into her pants."
I grinned at him, which I think surprised him a little. I'm sure he expected me to say something like, "Is that what you did with me?" So I know what I said next surprised him: "Do you want to fuck her again?" I'll give him this: he recovers fast. His surprise turned to a slow smile. "Again," he replied, "And again and again and again."
And every time he said it, his finger slipped a little deeper into me and I panted just a little harder. I imagined him with her and was surprised that the image didn't bother me a bit. Maybe that's because the picture of Yana sitting on Paul's beautiful pole flipped back and forth in my mind with a picture of me, doing to Yana's clitty with my tongue what Paul was doing right then to MY clitty with his finger.
He leaned into me and whispered in my ear again. Have you ever seen one of those couples that look like they're having this very intimate conversation in public? My mom calls it "canoodling." Their heads are close together, they're looking deeply into each other's eyes, maybe she's gently stroking his arm or he's stroking her hair. And if they're sitting in a park in broad daylight, all that's probably going on is some romantic chit chat. But if they're side-by-side in a booth in the back of a dimly lit restaurant where you can't see their hands . . . well. . . the conversation may be a bit more like this:
"We'd been dating for a while," Paul said, "and one night, Yana came over to the house for a drink before we went out. She was wearing these low-rise jeans that were so low and so tight they made me want to unzip them with my tongue. Her top was this gauzy, spaghetti strap number and let me tell you, she has a very flat belly."
Paul's finger slid deeper into me, up to the second knuckle. I bit the inside of my mouth, hard, to keep from moaning out loud. To distract myself, I asked if her stomach was the same lickable brown color as her face and hands. Thinking that way didn't really work as a distraction. I'm sure my eyes glazed over, but then he pulled out and pinched me lightly on the thigh. I almost yipped, first from the sharp shock of his departure, then from the pain of the pinch. But I remembered where we were.
"Don't let it show, baby," he said, his eyes dancing with suppressed laughter. "Just enjoy my story." With that, he again slipped his finger up and grazed my hyper-alert hot button. When he saw me take a deep breath, then smile back at him, he continued.
"I fixed her a drink and we were standing in the kitchen, talking about what clubs we were going to later and who she'd told to meet us where. I said something about how hot she looked and how that was creating kind of a dilemma. She was too hot not to take out, but so hot that I didn't want to let her out of the apartment. She looked at me over the rim of her glass and took a long, slow sip. Then she said-and I'll never forget this, mostly because of the way she said it, all husky and sultry and so kind of 'fuck-me-now'-she said: 'It's still pretty early.' She set the drink on the bar, crossed her arms across her body, grabbed the hem of her shirt and pulled it over her head."
Paul had me on the edge of my seat in so many ways by this time. I knew where the story was going, but I didn't know if he was going to give me the release I already needed so badly. As if answering my second question, he slowed his finger's motion and eased up on the pressure. Bastard.
"She just stood there, one hand on her hip, the other dangling that top, looking at me like, 'So what are you going to do with THIS, big boy?" I'd noticed her nipples through the shirt earlier, pebble-hard and begging to be sucked. Now they were right there in front of me. She was naked from the waist up and her nips were standing out on top of those smooth, upturned handfuls of tit. Her hips and tight waist framed that gorgeous belly. I knew what was just a couple of inches below her belt buckle. I knew what she wanted me to do about it."
I was panting very quietly, I think. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Yana at another table not far from us and I was combining the mental picture of her Paul was painting for me with the reality of her not ten feet away.
"This just goes to show what a brilliant tease Yana is. We'd only been out a few times, but I was already getting familiar with her power games and was learning how to play with her instead of just giving in. It's probably the reason we lasted as long as we did. If I'd just pounced, I would have been another pushover. Instead, I tried to meet the challenge. Instead of just grabbing her, I knelt down in front of her and very slowly reached for that belt buckle. It probably took me two full minutes to unbuckle that belt, unsnap her jeans and pull the zipper all the way down. Then I leaned in and breathed a warm breath on her, very softly. I had my hands on her hips, so I could feel the shiver and I knew I had her."
Oh, God, diary! I'm writing this story the way Paul told it to me, and I'm reliving the story AND the memory of the telling. He's staring into my eyes and it's like he's in my head, monitoring the rising passion I'm feeling and keeping me right --- on --- the --- edge. One second, he's teasing my clit with what feels like a feather, but I know it's his index finger--then he slides it out and gently caresses my thigh, just firmly enough so that it doesn't tickle, but so gently that it's like a little electric circuit is being completed between his finger and the center of my being. And all the time, he's talking to me, telling me the hottest, nastiest story. To top all of that, the subject of that story is standing right in my line of sight in a crowded restaurant!
"Of course, once she gave in that little bit, she had to make her next move and try and get control back. I felt her try and shift away from me, but I had I good grip on her pants at the waist, so I just started pulling them down real slow, but with this firm, steady pressure. I was exposing more and more of her and I was still dressed, which was part of the game. Who's going to be more vulnerable to whom, y'know? She was wearing this tiny, lacy pair of underwear. No obstacle at all. It just came right down with the jeans and, in a minute, I had the pants at mid-thigh and she couldn't have moved if she'd wanted to-but by then, she didn't really want to. I was kissing my way down, now, across her belly and over that sensitive hollow just above the thighs-all around her little black landing strip. I could see the moisture starting to form on her pussy. She took a really deep breath and I glanced up - I just love looking up at a woman from between her legs, especially when she's standing up and looking back at you. There's this charge that runs between us in that moment that I just can't describe. Her boobs looked great from that angle, round and rolling up and down with her breathing, which was getting deeper and faster. I reached up with one hand and tweaked her nipples lightly, but kept my other hand on her ass to hold her to my face. Her stomach jerked with little stabs of pleasure as I dabbed my tongue into her slit over and over. Her eyes were open, but her lids were really heavy and I could tell she just wanted me to get to it - so I stretched it out some more."
Diary, I'm telling you, it was the most incredible seduction I've ever experienced. He was doing to me exactly what he was describing in the story-short, sharp, feather-light stabs into my pussy with his finger. Every time I thought, "This is it. I'm going to cum," he'd slow down or pull his finger out entirely and I knew that, if I moved to get closer to that magic digit, I would draw attention to us that would do nothing but humiliate me.
I thought it couldn't get any hotter than it was already, and then Yana looked up from the table where she was taking orders just as I looked over at her! Suddenly, the image of her looking down at Paul between her legs was superimposed over the real Yana. That "charge" that Paul was talking about in his story took on a life of its own. In that instant, I knew that I was going to be seducing her and I knew it was going to happen soon!
Paul touched my chin and pulled me back under his spell. As I looked deeply into his eyes again, I could feel my acceptance of his control deepen and any lingering resistance to my newly awakened bi-sexuality crumble. As he continued his story of dominating and penetrating Yana on that night months ago, I longed for him to allow me the same privilege. Every breath I took was coupled with a fresh thought, all variations on a theme: control me, dominate me, penetrate me!
He returned to his story.
"I heard her moan. I guess it wasn't really a moan, it was more of a mew, like a cat makes when you stroke them just right. Very high pitched and breathy. I kept licking her, but looked up again as she shifted her weight so she could lean on the kitchen counter and get some leverage. Then she tried grinding her pussy into my tongue, but I just backed off on the pressure a little bit. She bent her knees, frustrated, trying to get me to go deeper or harder, but I just kept pulling back and keeping the pressure and the pace steady. She finally moaned louder, using my name this time, in a kind of petulant little whine - 'Pauuuul!' I knew that was all she wrote."
"I told her to stand still. I unbuckled her sandals and pulled them off, one at a time, maintaining a firm grip on her calf each time so she knew who was in charge, even though I was doing the service. Then I skinned the pants completely down her legs and lifted each leg out. She was leaning against the counter, literally panting for it-kind of like you are, baby-and waiting for my next move. This was a big deal, you understand, her waiting for me to decide how it was going to go. She'd given up trying to manipulate the situation for a few minutes because I'd caught her so completely off guard. This is how I know she WANTS to be controlled too - just like you do."
I would've asked how he knew me so well, diary, but the way I was behaving made it pretty darn clear what a slut I am and what I wanted from him. I also didn't ask because I didn't have the breath for it. It was like my whole universe was three points of contact between us-our eyes, my hand on the back of his neck and his finger in my pussy.
And then I felt another presence in our intimate space. Our contact was partially broken as Paul shifted to face Yana. His finger retreated from my clit, but still rested on my thigh as she set out appetizer plate in front of us, then presented him with a wine bottle. I was totally out of the loop on their conversation. No idea what was said. My brain was trying to clear the jumble of impressions: Yana, naked in Paul's kitchen versus Yana, standing in front of me in a white shirt, black slacks and tie; throbbing heat and dampness from between my legs versus the background buzz of the restaurant full of people; the pulsing electricity of Paul's hand on my thigh versus the heat I could feel from that table of businessmen in front of us, their chairs shifted so they could all look at us with just a slight turn of the head-and the realization that they must have been watching us! I was in such a fog that I don't really remember registering any of this, and at the same time every piece of it came into my brain with crystal clarity. Before I'd really had a chance to recover, Paul had sampled the wine and ordered our entrees and Yana had gone. Had she noticed anything? Did she know what we were talking about?
"Now, where were we?" Paul asked, as he turned to face me again. "Oh, yeah. Yana was naked and leaning up against my kitchen counter, begging me to suck her pussy. I stood up, grabbed her waist and spun her around, then slapped her ass and sent her scurrying into the living room. Nice image of those tight cheeks bouncing across the room, by the way. I told her to go over to the window and she did as she was told-which was very unusual for Yana. You remember the way my windows are set deep into the walls of the apartment because of that boxy roofline? Well, I opened the drapes and have her lean over with her hands on that deep windowsill, so she was looking out the window into the courtyard below and the window across the way. Then I slid up behind her and unzipped. She was panting for it now, saying all this stuff in Spanish that I knew meant she was really hot. I don't even think she realized my neighbor was watching
"See, I have this family who were my neighbors across the way and I saw the teenage son in his room almost every night, sitting at his computer, playing games on-line or surfing for porn or something. He was this chunky, greasy-haired kid, probably all of fifteen, and I'd never seen a girl near their apartment, much less in this guy's room, so I thought I'd give him a little thrill. He was there tonight, just sitting in the glow of his computer screen in a dark room.
"As I eased into her from behind, I could see our reflection in the darkened window. Her eyes were closed, her mouth was open and her boobs swaying with our rhythm. I was going too slow, I guess, and she only had one way of exerting any control in the situation now, so she slammed that tight little ass back against me and let out a sharp little cry, followed by this deep moan of satisfaction. Apparently, she liked what that did for her, 'cause she kept snapping her hips back every time I stroked in, just to make sure she got the maximum penetration. We got pretty active and Yana had to shift her weight forward. Her right hand slipped. She pulled it up and slapped it against the window to hold herself in place. Didn't want to lose an inch of the dicking I was giving her. Anyway, my neighbor's window must've been open, 'cause he heard the sound and glanced up from his screen - and he just froze. We were back-lit by the lamps in the room, but the lights were on in the courtyard and I knew from experience that you could see right in to people's apartments at night if they had their drapes open. He saw us, clear as day, but Yana's eyes were still closed so she didn't see him."
And then Paul just stopped talking. I suddenly realized my eyes were closed. All my focus was on getting to the orgasm he was being so careful to deny me. I was living that story with him in my mind's eye while my body was pulled in to the sensory experience of his finger in my pussy and the feeling of his warm breath on my neck. And then he stopped moving and talking all at once. I felt myself about to flip completely out of my skin. Paul had worked me up to such a pitch in just the few seconds since Yana had left the table that I wanted to scream
Slowly, regretfully, I came down from my high. I opened my eyes. I grabbed his wrist and pulled his hand up to my face.
"What happened? Did she notice him?"
"What do you think happened?"
"I think she opened her eyes when she came and she saw your neighbor boy watching and jerking himself off and she slapped you silly when she recovered enough to control her arms. I also think she still fantasizes about what you did to her."
"That's pretty close. She tried to slap me, but I took her over my knee and spanked her good, right there where the kid could watch. Then she got dressed and we went dancing. And she made me pay for it for the rest of the week with some unmerciful teasing in situations where I couldn't do anything about it. I don't know about that last bit. I think she liked my control over her a little too much, though, so maybe she does still fantasize about it."
"You still want her?" I asked.
"Like I said, sweetie, again and again and again."
"Would you like my help with that?" I heard myself saying, as my tongue darted out to taste his fingers, still damp with my juice.
"Open your legs a little bit," he said. I did what he asked instantly, even though his order seemed like a total non sequitor. At least it did until I looked up and noticed the table of older gentlemen next to our booth. They were looking at us-at me, really--and I suddenly realized that, since the booth was a step up from the floor, they had a clear view under the table and had been watching what Paul was doing to me! Paul didn't even have to touch me again. I'd been so close and the sudden stab of humiliation and excitement took me right over the edge into an orgasm I had to struggle to conceal from the whole restaurant. I bit my lip, my eyes closed, and the deep, loud moan I wanted to let out became a low, quiet moan into Paul's neck as I turned my head and ducked into his shoulder.
I couldn't believe what I'd said to him, couldn't believe the things he made me do. Even more, I was again struck by how much I was willing to do for him. I was, absolutely, his total slut. I knew it earlier today when he had me naked and sucking him off in the theatre, but in this moment, it sank into me like . . . like his hard cock. He was my master and my soulmate. I was his slave--and I felt more free than I'd ever felt in my life.
I looked up at him, pretending that the last couple of minutes since I last spoke hadn't happened, and said: "I think Yana's very pretty, and if you still want her, then I know I would enjoy her too--but I would never do anything like that without your permission, Paul."
"You've got it." He patted my head in a way that told me my actions had met with his approval. And then, as an afterthought, he added something that gave my pussy a sexy jolt, "And if you get a chance to be with her alone somewhere for a few minutes, take it. I want her to come home with us tonight."
I worked hard to be as tempting as possible to Ileana for the rest of the night, right through the salads and heading into the main course. Several glasses of wine made me bolder as the evening went on. My behavior was also of intense interest to the men at the neighboring table, and I threw an occasional coy glance their way as well, flashing them little glimpses of my bare pussy whenever Yana wasn't around. Paul helped, caressing my thighs under the table, easing my skirt up and tickling my still-damp outer lips with his sensitive fingers. We didn't say much, but we managed to look like we were carrying on a fairly normal conversation, even as my excitement built yet again.
As Yana walked by the table at one point, I flipped my hair mercilessly, showing loads of neck. Then, when she stopped to see if we needed anything, I asked about what she was wearing to the club tonight. She said she had a strapless top and a pleated mini that was just to die for, but that she wished she had a pair of shoes like mine. I said they'd look great on her, I bet, and she smiled, then leaned in and whispered in my ear, "Y'know, my girlfriend just loves open-toed sandals like yours. She starts by kissing my toes, then unstraps them while she works her way up my leg. My boyfriend is more interested in lingerie."
I must have looked kind of wide-eyed as she pulled back, but I managed a smile. It was pretty obvious that I was succeeding in the mission Paul had set for me-but if she was already in a relationship . . . or two . . . was it fair of me to tempt her? I thought about her lips near my ear, her warm, sweet breath, and the dance of her fingers in my hair and made up my mind that, if all is fair in love and war, lust must trump everything.
More evidence of that truth came a minute later, when the table of guys that had been watching me all night stood to leave. The older one, who seemed to be the one in charge, walked over to the table and spoke to Paul.
"I've taken the liberty of paying for your dinner, including a generous tip for your lovely waitress. It seemed only fair, considering how much enjoyment we've had from watching your date this evening. The view aside, the scent of her arousal added a piquancy to dessert."
Paul seemed surprised, but accepted the gesture graciously. I was too stunned by what he'd said to hear much of what happened for a minute. They could SMELL me?! I shivered as my humiliation deepened, my sense of being exposed was so acute-but I realized it didn't make me feel violated at all, just more . . . and this is really perverse, diary, but I'm really trying to tell you the truth . . . I felt more grateful to Paul.
The man then pulled a business card out of his jacket and handed it to Paul. I didn't even catch a glimpse of it, I was so caught up in my own thoughts. The guy was ignoring me now, even though I'd been the center of attention for his whole table for the last hour. I felt like was just an appendage to my man-and I guess, as far as he was concerned, I was. Heck, as far as I was concerned, that was pretty damn true!
"I hope you don't consider me too forward, but I run a sales-based business. Should your young lady ever like to make some money helping me out with some of my clients, I could promise to make it very worth her while. And yours."
Paul didn't breath for a second, but he was still looking at the card, so I don't think the man saw that. I realized what he was suggesting immediately and, again, my thoughts on the subject took a turn for the perverse. I was terrified that Paul might take him up on his offer, turning me into a whore. And then my terror was replaced with an expanding warmth as it occurred to me that, if that was what Paul wanted me to do, it would be exactly the right thing and, however humiliating I found it to be, I wouldn't be this man's whore, I'd be Paul's.
Still, I was relieved-and a little puzzled--when Paul looked up, he looked totally calm and cool and said: "Thank you Mister Collins. I don't believe I'd be interested in the proposition for Kim, but I may be able to offer you other help in the future." He slipped the card into his shirt pocket and Paul thanked him for his generous gesture in paying for dinner.
I wanted to ask Paul about what he'd meant as soon as Mr. Collins stepped away, but Yana was approaching the table with our dessert. Our distinguished voyeur thanked Paul again, joined his colleagues, and left.
As Yana set a tower of chocolate, pralines and whipped cream in front of us, she asked about my necklace, a gold heart pendant, I invited her to touch it. As she did, I pushed into her hand, persuading her fingers to dip into the v-neck of my dress and tease my nipple. She looked shocked for a second, then parted her fingers around the hard pebble it had become and squeezed, once, before sliding her hand out. ""Very nice," she murmured. My breathing was heavier. Her voice was a little shaky.
Paul continued gently caressing every part of me below the tablecloth throughout dessert. I was so grateful not to be sitting on my skirt with all the moisture I was generating. Even if the whole restaurant could smell me, I wouldn't ruin "The Terminator" with my juices.
I hardly tasted the beautiful confection because I was on the verge of cumming again. Yana was finally not so busy that she had time to notice us and figure out exactly what was happening, because she kept cruising by, smiling at us suggestively and asking if everything was to our satisfaction. She drawled out that last word with a little flick of her tongue that belonged right beside Paul's fingers, deep in my pussy.
With each trip by our table after that, Yana's looks grew more searching, her glances at Paul more libidinous, and her attention to our table almost excessive. By the time we were done with the dessert, Yana was looking at us like Paul was going to be her main course and I was destined to be her entire diet of sweets for the month. I was ready to be a multi-course meal for both of them.
As Yana came by for the empty dessert plates, Paul insisted that she toast us with the last of the champagne. Yana glanced around and saw her boss by the bar, scanning the room. "Can't do it, Paul. Gene would fire me in a second if he saw me drinking alcohol with a customer."
Paul smiled and said, "Well, you could have water and we could finish the champagne. And just so it's not a total waste, why don't you get a head start on the rest of us with this," and he pulled a little packet of white powder out of his shirt pocket and deftly dumped it into the fresh glass of water she'd just set down.
Yana looked first at Paul, then at the milky tendrils of powder dissolving in the water, with some suspicion. "And what is THAT?"
"Just a variation on X, Yana. Like we used to do at the clubs sometimes. This is powder, not pills and I was going to ask Kim if she wanted to try it later, but then we started drinking and X and alcohol don't mix. So, if you promise you won't drink tonight . . . " his words trailed off as he offered her the glass.
She smiled as she raised the glass and said, "You always did get the good stuff when you wanted it. Kim, Paul doesn't do drugs much, but he always went first class when he did."
We raised our glasses in a toast. Paul leaned into me and whispered, very, very softly so there was no way Yana could hear, "Ask for the ladies room, don't be surprised when she suggests an alternative. Go with what I told you and follow your instincts."
I asked for directions to the ladies' room. Paul said that he needed to make a quick phone call and would step out to the bar, which had quieted down since we arrived. The dining room was almost empty, too. We were Yana's last table of the night.
As Paul walked away, Yana said, "Why don't you come back through the kitchen with me. We've got a bathroom and a little co-ed locker room/shower combo. I'm done with my side work, so I'm going to change anyway and hang at the bar if there's time before we go."
Here was the opportunity Paul had suggested I take, if it came up. It was almost like he knew it would and I figured that, if he knew Yana as well as I suspected he did, he did know it would come up.
We walked back through the kitchen and all the line cooks stopped their clean-up to give us the eye. Again, my dress was doing its job. There was a sliding sign on the door that showed a little man or woman figure depending on how it was positioned. I guess that allowed the owners to pretend the room didn't go unisex, which probably would've upset them. Paul said they were pretty conservative.
Before I knew it, I was in the locker room, my business finished, and Yana standing before me in her bra and panties, holding out the little outfit she'd described earlier. It was adorable. Just like something I would have picked out for clubwear-very sexy, but not slutty. Watching her standing there like that, posed with her weight held just so, with a "look at you looking at me" smile on her face and Paul's instructions ringing right beside my own inclinations in my head, I blurted out the one thing guaranteed to get this ball rolling without further ado: "Oh, can I try it on?"
Her eyebrows arched up, but her smile deepened and I knew it was go for broke time. She handed me the outfit and, as I turned to hang it on the open locker door, I heard the click of the door lock. Yana said, "Just in case you don't like being surprised by somebody walking in while you're undressed."
I didn't respond directly, just turned my back to her and gestured for her to unzip me. Feeling her fingers at the base of my neck sent a shiver right down my spine and beyond. She made a point of standing very close behind me, caressing me with her free hand on my shoulder as the zipper dropped to the small of my back. She tugged the dress off my right shoulder, I shrugged it off my left, and "The Terminator" dropped to the floor. As I stepped out of it, I stepped back into her and her arms responded by encircling my waist and rising to cup my titties. I rolled my head back and she dove under my hair with greedy lips. I moaned and my nipples, already burning from a night of teasing from Paul, pulsed under her delicate fingers.
I was about to just sink into it and let her have her way with me, but then I remembered all the things Paul had revealed to me about her. And I recalled, too, that submitting to Paul was one thing - the only thing, in fact - so submitting to her was out of the question. She was going to have to give me what I needed on MY terms . . . and wow, did that thought put some sizzle in my snatch! (Like it needed any more by that point in the evening.)
It was hard, but I broke from her embrace, spun around and took her face in my hands. We were almost exactly the same height, but I was still wearing my heels, so it was easy plunge my tongue into her mouth, which was open in a small 'oh' of surprise. My hands skimmed down her body, teasing, searching hotly among the many soft, curvy surfaces she offered. Finally one hand came to rest on her left butt cheek and the other nuzzled under her lacey black bra to free up some of that mocha-brown boob I'd been fantasizing about all night. I pulled her into me as roughly as I could-I'm not all that strong, but I had plenty of motivation. She grunted, kind of surprised by the sudden turn of things, then got into it. I kissed down her neck to the nipple my hand had revealed, then sucked it deep into my mouth like it was the last gumdrop in the world and I was a gumdrop junkie. Her panting sharpened and was joined by something gutteral that crawled up from her belly, through her throat and out between clenched teeth.
Man, this sexual control thing was HOT!
Her hands went into my hair, holding me to her until I pulled back, leaving her panting for more. I held her at arm's length. I was panting too, but I did my best to keep it on the inside and give her my best ice queen stare. I just tried to do my best imitation of Paul from that point on.
"Take off your bra and panties."
She tried to make it smooth and seductive, but she was too hot and bothered Her impatience revealed itself in her timing, which was just a little too fast to be considered "in control." I felt real pride in this, since Paul had told me how much she liked her sense of control.
Once she was naked, I just looked at her. She hesitated, bit her lip, and said what I'd been thinking just a minute earlier: "I . . . I can't believe . . . All night I've been thinking about was getting YOU this hot . . . and now . . ." It dawned on me that she was still playing with me. I hadn't won yet. We were still in the middle of the game. She was going with the flow and giving me what she thought I wanted with the idea of getting my sympathy, then turning the tables. I could see the wheels turning. She had confidence in her abilities as a lover and figured even if she got me off first, she'd have me begging for more after a dose of what she could offer. She might very well think so, but the way I was feeling, I wouldn't have advised anyone to bet on that horse.
"Yana, I think you and Paul know each other a lot better than he's let on. I also think you two have some big plan for me to be in the middle of Paul and Yana sandwich, and that's fine-but I'm not going to go along to get along and hope I get mine, 'cause you two have been messing me with all night. If you want a chance to get some more of what you just got from me, you're going to have to earn it. Get on your knees."
If the look of shock on her face, accompanied by the slow collapse of her knees as she descended to the floor was any measure of what she was feeling, she'd never been spoken to like that by a potential lover before in her sweet, promiscuous young life. Of course, I'd never said (or even really THOUGHT) anything like that before myself, so you could have knocked me over with a feather. Instead, I sat on the cushy bench in the middle of the locker room and spread my legs, then reached out, caressed her cheek with my fingers, then cradled her chin in my hand.
I smiled down at her-my absolute sweetest smile, I swear. It's the one I use when I want a teacher to give me a break on some homework I missed or the one I used to use on boys when I wanted them to spend money on me and not expect to get anything more than I was willing to give in return. Then, and I swear, diary, this is exactly what I did and said, I slid my hand back up her check, grabbed a big handful of Yana's thick, dark curls, and pulled her into my pussy, saying, "Make it good, you little tease!"
And oooooh, she did. I've only had guys go down on me a few times and Paul is by far the best. When you combine all the other things he does for me sexually, he's the absolute best overall. But for sheer, mind-blowing cunnilingus, it's very hard for any guy to compete with a hot chick who knows what she's doing. I learned that back in high school with my one previous lesbian experience and over the last couple of days, which we'll get to in a minute.
I guess it's true that we know how the equipment works and where everything is located better than guys do. I also think it's true that women generally just care more about making it good for each other. That last wasn't really Yana's thing, though. As good as she was, technically, I could tell she was playing to impress me. There was just something about her energy that was all, "look how good I am at this" and not "feel how good I can make you feel" if you know what I mean. Still, she was very good - not that I have a wide basis for comparison so far.
But she did get the job done and she did it in a way that made it VERY hard for me to contain the moans coming up from my toes. It was helped along by back-up reel of images and feelings from the whole night that were running in my head: Paul, slamming into me from behind on my bed, walking through that restaurant knowing I was naked underneath, checking out the sway of Rose's cheeks and the swish of her hair, the teasing and storytelling through dinner, Mr. Collins and his business colleagues watching, Yana teasing and flirting, I had to bite my hair at one point to keep a scream of pure, unadulterated OHMYGODINHEAVEN! from echoing through the heavy locker room door to the near-empty dining room.
And she kept at it after the first big finish, too. I'll give her credit for being thorough. She made sure I was done, done, done before she stopped, resting her chin on my belly and smiling up at me with my snatch-juice all over her pretty face and hair.
I sat up, pulled her up into a deep kiss. As our nipples touched and the weight of our breasts pressed against each other, she almost managed to get me into her game by tangling her fingers in my hair and gently urging me down. It wasn't a very convincing effort. She seemed mostly passive and a little out of it-hungry for it, but not really willing to go for it. It was a lot different than what I expected, based on Paul's descriptions, though I still think it surprised her when I pulled away.
"You've got to ask Paul's permission before you get anything else from me. And I think you're probably going to have to apologize really sweetly to him for trying to seduce his girlfriend."
With that, I got up and started putting on her outfit. It looked great on me, just like I knew it would. Probably fit Yana like she was poured into it, but on me it was more girly and cute.
Looking at her sitting there on the floor, her fingers dipping into her pussy as she just watched me dress, I could tell she was a little stunned, but almost as dazed by lust as by the shock of what had just transpired. She eyed the door, calculating if she'd have enough time to get herself off before someone else needed to get in here.
"I don't think you're going to make it, sweetie," I said, tying the halter top behind my neck. "Soon as I'm dressed, I'm marching out of here. If I were you, I'd put on my dress --- I think it's going to be a little tight up top for you, but you'll probably like that slutty look-and get out to the bar. We're heading to the club with Matt and Rose soon."
I couldn't believe what a haughty little bitch I was being with her. I'm not usually like that at all. At least I don't think I am. But I sure let it out that night. Maybe it was like I said and it was all about how she'd been teasing me all night and what Paul had told me about her, but right now, she didn't look like a tease or a manipulator at all. She just looked like she was . . . hypnotized or something.
As I touched up my make-up in the big mirror over the sink, I added, in a kind of off-hand way that made it sound even more catty than it probably was, "Come to think of it, you might want to wash up a little first. I bet you really smell like sex."
As soon as I walked into the bar, Paul looked up and smiled at me. He paid me a few compliments on my new outfit, asked if Yana was almost ready, and I told him she probably was . . . and that she might have something to say to him. He said, "Yeah, I bet she might. Let me go talk to her right now. Order whatever you want. Just be careful, Matt's warming up for his shift at the Lizard and he's got a heavy hand."
I didn't even bother to knock at the locker room door. I just walked in and saw Yana stepping out of the shower with the towel still in her hand.
"Don't even bother putting that on," I said, locking the door behind
me. "I think you owe me an apology." Since I didn't want to waste any time,
I was unzipping my pants as I crossed the small room. Yana was already
on her knees, the towel pooled beside her when I got there, her mouth-and
her mind-warm, wet, open and receptive.
In Chapter One, Paul gave his fairly new girlfriend, Kim, a dose of a mysterious powder called Q’injo, given to HIM by a buddy who swore that it was “the only true aphrodisiac in the world.” It worked. What Paul didn’t realize at first was that Kim tasted his semen within the allotted one hour time frame of the powder’s active phase, binding her to him for good (or certainly for lots of good sex). As Paul’s buddy tells him, “the high of being with you becomes like the best sex-and-romance high ever and the withdrawal of being without you is worse than heroin and nicotine withdrawal combined.”
In Chapter Two, we saw the Q’injo experience from Kim’s perspective, as she wrote in her diary about events in the laundry room on that first day and then an encounter with Paul on campus later that week. In Chapter Three, Paul picked up Kim for their first post-Q’injo date, but had a hard time getting her out of the house. Chapters Four and Five will recount the balance of that first date night, which involves more public exposure, some surprising revelations about Kim’s sexual orientation (which will not surprise anyone who reads literature of this type), two new recruits, Paul helping out a good buddy (and himself), and Kim and Paul’s first group action.
And then Kim had to go out of town in the same week that Matt and Rose asked for Yana for a few days.
With Kim, it was one of those family obligation trips for the holidays. You can’t get out of those when you’re still living at home. For Yana, well, it seemed like the decent thing to do for Matt. I told him they’d have access, after all—and he didn’t know about the trigger phrase I’d planted in Rose’s subconscious and fully intended to use.
Regretful as I was at the prospect of not having my ashes hauled as often as I’d like for a week, I figured I’d survive. Yana was cool with it. She did what we told her and loved it, a very nice change from her previous persona. Kim was quite a bit more tearful about it, but I knew she’d be fine—and come back hornier than ever, with lots of nasty little diary entries for me to read.
They’d only been gone for twenty-four hours when my life got even more complicated and interesting than it already was, if you can believe it.
A bit of backstory: up until a year ago, I’d been a serious relationship. Her name was Susan and we were in love and headed for wedded bliss . . . or so I thought. Until she made a pass at my best friend, made up some amazing stories about me cheating on her to justify her choice to start sleeping with yet another guy, then cleaned out the joint checking account we’d been contributing to for the wedding before telling me, some three weeks AFTER she’d already made the decision, that “it was over.” In other words, she broke my heart, ripped the pieces out of my chest and danced a tarantella on them before flitting blithely off to get engaged to a young local doctor, Barry, the new boyfriend of three weeks.
While Barry was a saint in a white coat, I was the “bad boy” boyfriend her parents—particularly her father--abhorred. I was the one who introduced Susan to her sexual self (over and over again) for two years prior to the break-up. And it had been quite an adventure. When we met, she was a senior in high school and I was the “college man” (an independent sophomore English major—not exactly the top of the social heap). She was this sexy blend of savvy and innocence—a 5’8” zaftig babe with 36Ds, killer curves and long, honey-blonde hair down to the bottom curve of her glorious bottom. She knew what she wanted, but hadn’t yet figured out how she was going to get it or how much she was going to like it once she got a taste.
We tried just about everything two people with the right equipment and some imagination could try—and just about everywhere, including a racquetball court at the local Y . . . but that’s a story for another time. One of her favorite things to do had been to pose for photos that I then developed in the darkroom in the art building at my school. (In the days before I could afford a digital—the modern smut photographer’s choice). I had three large albums full of inventive erotica, with negatives, featuring Susan in and out of her clothes, in and out of doors and with me (and a few long, bulbous objects) in and out of her. Treasured possessions, those albums, though I hadn’t been able to look at them since she dumped me for Barry-boy.
Imagine, then, my surprise when Susan appeared at my apartment door one weeknight a couple of days after Kim left town.
She was dressed to the nines -- plus. Black boots with little bows, tight black skirt, clingy white blouse, black choker and matching purse. She gave me her best “how could you not forgive li’l ol’ me” smile, grasped my forearm with those cool, slender fingers I remembered so well, and stepped in for a quick hug and peck on my cheek before I could get my jaw off the entry hall tile.
The stream of babble was all Susan. What’s going on with me quickly morphed into the far more interesting subject of what was going on with HER: New car, Mom-‘n-Dad good (not that I gave a fuck), “school’s great, changed my major three times this year, ha, ha,” mutual “friends” (who I haven’t seen since we broke up) are doing great, la-dee-dah, la-dee-dah, remember Scooter? (yes—the prick from her church who always wanted to score with her and who I suspected probably had) and Bets Bradley (not a clue who she was, but apparently she’d had a Very Bad Time at Vanderbilt and was now home, sucking at the parental teat again after a stint in rehab). “So, Anyway . . . yadah-yadah Big Plans and yadah-yadah Exciting Happenings.” And then she says, “In one more year, I’m done with school and Barry finishes his internship and then we’re getting married . . . oh, sorry to bring that up.”
I mumbled something about how it was fine, it’d been all of four months and I was All Better Now. And the whole time, my mind’s churning with bitter resentment as the memories of those last few weeks flood back and my heart’s aching all over again at how incredibly fucking gorgeously hot she looks and remembering how great those fingers always felt when they slipped around my prick, not to mention those silky blonde locks and those soft, pink lips. You’ll probably be thinking, “What about KIM?” to which I can only say, if you’re saying that, you’ve never had your heart broken like Susan broke mine. Kim was great, but Susan was my First Love (however misguided that may have been on my part). Kim was a keeper, Susan wasn’t—but that didn’t cool the warmth of the sentimental attachment to What Might Have Been, or the heat of the physical attraction I still felt away. The way it all ended just curdled those feelings into a nasty bile that I’d fed on, off and on, for four months.
Now, I’d like to say that the nasty scheme you’ve probably been expecting since the top of the chapter hatched AFTER the next words out of her mouth, but it wouldn’t be true. It was before. As I contemplated my bile and felt it rising as a background track to her blithe chattter. The full extent of what I was going to do matured as the conversation—and her attempts at manipulation—continued.
“So, Paul, I was wondering,” she said, doing a subtle come-on combined with a guilt trip by pouting at me, her head slightly drooping, through her feathery bangs, “If . . . maybe . . . if you’d let me have those . . . those pictures we took.”
And there it was. Who could blame her? Her ex-boyfriend had reams of photos of her that could be very embarrassing if they should appear, say, on the world-wide web or something. I’d certainly considered it, but didn’t have a scanner and, until this very minute, didn’t think I was that kind of person. My recent experiences with Kim had revealed a . . . well, let’s just call it a darker level to my personality, even as they had also fed something good in my soul.
“Susan, would you like something to drink? I’ve got this really great herbal tea.”
She relaxed a little when she agreed to the tea, assuming from my response to her sally that negotiations were now open. She figured I’d be reasonable and, knowing Susan as I did, she probably figured she’d have to be willing to put out at least a little before she got what she wanted. She just wanted it to be as little as possible and, once she had the photos and negatives, she could deny any accusations I might make. She also probably thought I was still the “nice guy” she’d dumped: the kind of guy who’d never make those kinds of accusations, or publish naked and nasty photos of her on the web–but the wife of an up-and-coming young doctor couldn’t take any chances.
It only took me a few minutes in the kitchen to whip up some Celestial Seasonings with a hint of Uncle Jimmy’s Hypnotic Herb, but all the while as we bantered back-and-forth about The Good Old Days, my mind was racing through the possibilities. I knew I wanted some payback—and a lot more than she was going to be willing to give me, even in her wildest imaginings. But what she was willing to do was about to change—drastically.
We’d been sipping away and chatting calmly for, oh, say about ten minutes (exactly ten minutes and twenty-three seconds by the digital clock on the wall behind her), when I let the first hint of my intentions drop. Nothing had been said about the pictures since her first mention of them.
“Y’know, I ought to go get some of those old pictures for us to look at. Wouldn’t that be fun?”
“Yes,” said Susan softly. Her conversation had been wandering for the last couple of minutes (she actually let me get a word in edgewise) and her eyes were slightly glazed.
“Why don’t you wait right here. I’ll go get it while you take your boots off.”
I was back with the first volume of pictures in a flash. Susan sat docilely on the couch, her feet tucked under her, her boots under the table. Plenty of room for me right next to her.
“Let’s look at these,” I continued as I nestled in beside her, opening the album.
“And while we look at them, you’re going to remember how much fun we had taking them . . . how much fun we had when we were together . . . how hot you always got when I took pictures of you . . . and you’re going to relax . . . just relax very deeply . . . and breathe slowly and evenly . . . “
And as I slowly flipped the pages of the album and the shots of Susan went from the modestly erotic early sessions to the hotter, wetter stuff, I coached her into a deep trance and planted some hastily concocted post-hypnotic suggestions and trigger words. (I’d learned a lot from my experiences with Kim, Rose, and Yana and had the phrasing I wanted worked out pretty well by now). Her primary trance phrase would be “Slut-of-Diamonds” and I would plant more later, to help her realize of few of the sexual personas I had in mind for my little doctor-fucking heartbreaker of an ex. The occasional pang of conscience I felt at the thought of what I was about to do was swept away by memories of what an incredible bitch she’d been in those last few weeks we’d been together, after she’d already started up with Barry but was still playing me for everything she could get.
By the time we reached the end of the first book of photos, I had her right where I wanted her and it was time to launch her back into reality – or at least the new version of it she’d be living in from now on.
I was back in my chair across the table from her, the photo album sitting next to her empty tea cup, when she snapped back into the world without really realizing she’d been gone. She smiled at me, a slight hint of the confusion she must be feeling was in her eyes and trembled on those lips that were about to be right where they belonged. Maybe she was noticing that her pussy was damp and her nipples hard from the aphrodisiac qualities of the Qin’jo tea.
“Um . . . weren’t we going to look at the pictures?”
“Why don’t you look through them, Suze. It’s . . . still kind of hard for me.”
That cleared her mind of any lingering doubts about what had just happened. If she even had a feeling that anything felt odd, it vanished in the little ego boost I’d just given her.
She picked up the album and started paging through it again and I watched as my first set of hypnotic suggestions began to take hold.
As she paged, her pupils began to dilate and her breathing began to quicken. Her free hand slipped into her blouse, her nails flicking her nipple. She shifted uncomfortably, then began a slow, steady squirm. Half way through the book, as she came to a set of pictures in which she was playing with herself, she looked up at me and smiled with a heated look in her eyes and quick tongue on her teeth. “Ooooh, I remember that day.”
That was my cue.
“Do you, Suze? You remember what got you hot enough to do that?”
The photos in question had been taken in her parent’s bedroom while they were out shopping. We’d been out in the back yard, catching some rays by the pool, and noticed her neighbor, the aforementioned Scooter from her church, watching from his upstairs bedroom window as I slowly rubbed suntan oil all over her chest and belly. After I “slipped” a few times and her top came loose, she pulled it off and gave the Scoot-ster quite a show before slowly getting up and strolling into the house topless.
She was the one who asked me if I had my camera that day, then dragged me into her folk’s room where she splayed herself out on the bed and brought herself off for the lens several times before insisting that I fuck her silly. (None of it much of a hardship, by the way).
“Do you remember how to get yourself off, Suze?” I asked. The suggestion triggered the need I’d planted in her.
She slid the album off her lap. Her fingers went to the buttons of her blouse and began to work each one loose. All the while, she stared straight into my eyes with that “dare you to stop me” look that I remember awakening in her for the first time just about three years before. Then, on our first daytime date, I’d persuaded her that stripping to the altogether in the convertible on the way to the beach might be her best opportunity to lay in a good base. Another tale for another day.
Of course, there was no way I was going to stop her today, either, but she didn’t know that. I’d “suggested” to her that I was a really a good guy who was totally over her and wished her nothing but the best, but that she, in fact, still had a yen for me—and for some good, hard dicking in general, since Barry just wasn’t really cutting it in that department.
A little exploratory questioning while she was under determined that this was actually based on some version of the truth. She wasn’t satisfied with her sex life with Dr. Barry. He was so busy with school that she’d considered sleeping with another guy on at least two occasions, but didn’t want to queer the pitch with Bar. He came from money and the status of marrying a rich guy and a doctor to boot was just too much for Her Highness to risk. In fact, my exploration had revealed some serious kink underneath Susan’s bitchiness. I understood her a lot better. She was constantly trying to get guys to punish her, but protected herself from the consequences of her desires by picking guys who were fundamentally decent, who would never think to push back against her hard enough to make her cave and grovel. I wasn’t that guy when we’d been together, but now . . . now I definitely was. And I had the power to do it.
Underpinning all of the stuff I’d worked into her subconscious was the notion I’d planted that whatever happened between us today would be totally her idea. Truth be told, it mostly would be. I’d just provided the trigger, she was going to aim and fire as her libido directed—with an occasional nudge from me in the form of a challenge or question.
Susan parted her blouse to reveal a very full, very lacy unlined demi-bra through which her nipples, pointed like the proverbial pencil erasers and, as I recalled in that moment, very pebble-like in texture, were quite visible. She’d come ready for action today after all, as I suspected. Probably figured she’d get away with just blowing me one time for the pictures. Little did she know.
Her fingers went to the zipper on the side of the tight, black skirt. Once it was down, she had to stand up to continue the striptease, which she did by turning her back to me and slowly sliding the skirt over her butt and down her legs until it pooled around her feet. Before turning around to face me again, she deftly shrugged her blouse off, dropping it languidly on top of the still-open photo album.
Her panties were tangas (in a pale mauve color, complete with a little damp spot) that matched her demi-bra. She always did have taste.
When she turned her head to glance back at me, her butt gave a cute little twist and her long hair swayed gloriously from side to side.
“Should I go on?”
“I . . . I’m not sure if that’s such a great idea,” I mumbled, doing my best to play the noble-ex trying to hold it together. “I mean, I’m no big fan of Barry, but . . . “
“Look,” she said, turning to face me fully but maintaining the slightly off balance pose of the lingerie model, “I don’t want this to get back to Barry, but . . . well . . . I do want those pictures. And I have kind of missed you. It wouldn’t hurt if we just did it this once, would it?”
“Did what, exactly?” I wanted her to say it.
“Well,” and now she looked a little uncomfortable, because she didn’t really want to ASK for it . . . but she was probably finding that warm wetness between her legs was dictating terms at the moment. That was the Qin’jo, working its magic.
“I want. . . ” and I could see the struggle on her face. This was exactly what I’d hoped would happen. She was beginning to realize she didn’t have as much power in this situation as she thought, that she was, in fact, increasingly powerless. “I want you to . . . make love to me, Paul.”
And now she’d put the knife firmly in my hand. It was time to twist. But just a little one at first.
“I can’t do that, Suze.”
The look on her face—a mixture of frustrated desire, desperation and spoiled-little-girl hurt at being denied her candy—made all the pain of the break-up worthwhile.
“Why NOT?!” she all but whined.
“Suzie, honey. I can’t make love to you because I don’t love you anymore.”
“Oh.” And she really did seem hurt by that on a more adult level. It dawned on me that maybe she assumed I would be waiting here for her if she ever decided she wanted me again. I seriously doubted it meant that she still harbored any real feelings for me. Another thing that was about to change.
Then, a small light gleamed in her eyes and she looked up at me, her chin trembling every so slightly as the words formed in her brain and then tried to push their way out through resistant lips.
“Well . . . we could just . . . fuck.”
I was loving this and wanted to stretch it out a bit more. I put on my best it’s-just-not-that-simple look.
“Thing is, even though you’re still very beautiful and I don’t really like Barry all that much, I’m kind of seeing someone right now and just because she’s out of town doesn’t mean . . . “
“Please!” It popped out of her mouth so fast that it took a second for the look of abject terror to reach her eyes. The Princess of All She Surveyed had just begged a guy to fuck her. She wasn’t done yet.
“You want it that bad, Suzie?” Part of the suggestion I’d parked in her brain involved a growing aphrodisiac effect from the humiliation of hearing the diminutive forms of her name. She’d always hated being called anything but “Susan” and now every “Suze” and “Suzie” from my lips was making her hotter than the one before.
“Yes . . . I . . . I mean . . . I want to feel . . . I mean, I need to feel . . . “
“It’s not really about feelings, is it Suzie? ‘Cause I don’t have any feelings for you any more. I mean, you’re hot and I know you like to fuck and suck and we had some good times in the sack . . . and in the back seat and there was that time on the golf course and on that racquetball court . . . .“ I was prolonging her humiliation, but that was part of my pattern of hypnotic suggestions too. Every reminder of her wanton sexuality, every refresher from her sexual history and every roadblock I threw up that made her fight harder to have her rising need met would just make her hotter. I wanted her to know she was jonesing for it, not understand why and not be able to stop herself.
For the moment, she was speechless. Her own mounting lust was causing her hands to twitch. She wanted to reach up and get herself off, or at least pinch her nipples or something, but that would be abject surrender and she wasn’t quite there yet.
“What do you want, Suzie?
“I want . . . I want you . . . I want to please you . . . to . . ,“ This time her hand did stray to her nipple and the pinch she gave it made her gasp. Her knees quivered.
“You have to say it, Suze. You’re going to have to ask me for what you want,” I decided it was time for a big twist this time, “And then, when you tell me . . . no, when you beg me to give you what you want, then I’ll decide whether you get it or not.”
She looked stunned. I could see the angry retort form on her lips, followed by a look of panic in her eyes as she realized that if she said what she was thinking, I might not give her what she now had to have. And then this proud blonde bitch goddess of a woman cracked. I could see it in the set of her shoulders. They didn’t droop, they shifted to show me her boobs to their absolute best advantage. She was going for it with hardly a second thought.
“I want you to fuck me. Please.”
I smiled, but didn’t move.
“Please, Paul. I . . . I need to you to fuck me, right here, right now.”
“Really?” I replied. “But what about what you said to me when we broke up? That you’d never really wanted to do all the things we did, that I made you? And that you were faking it half the time?”
“I was lying, Paul! I was trying to hurt you. I’m so sorry.”
“So you were kind of a bitch, huh?”
Her lips trembled and tears began forming at the corners of her eyes. She began to see what I was going to extract from her.
“Yes. Yes, I was a bitch. And I cheated on you, with Barry.”
“And you tried to seduce Scott, too, didn’t you, at that keg party when I was out of town?’
“I . . . I did. I was terrible.” She was crying now and her ragged breathing wasn’t just about the tears, because the fingers of her right hand were tracing the line of her panties just below her tight belly, occasionally slipping below the lace to tease the top of her very damp slit. “And I’m so sorry for that and for everything else. I just . . . ,” And then I saw the idea for a new tactic slide across her face. “I need you to fuck me really, really hard and get back at me. Make me pay for it all.”
“Y’know, Suzie, that’s a good idea. Making you pay for it all. But I think we’re going to do that MY way, if that’s all right with you.”
“Anything! I’ll do whatever, just as long as you—“
“No conditions, Suze. You’ll do whatever I say and I’ll give you whatever I feel like giving you.”
She looked abashed at this. It was beginning to dawn on her that she might not get fucked after all, but then I saw her confidence surge back. She was still the Amazing Susan, Best Fuck on the Planet. She’d break me down with her irresistible charms.
“Clear the couch and stretch out, but don’t finish undressing. I’ll be right back.”
When I returned with the video camera, her eyes widened and her hips bucked ever so slightly as she pulled her hand out of her panties quickly. She blushed. To me, it was fetching but for her, it was just another sign of her growing loss of control.
“Don’t stop on my account,” I said, turning the camera on her. “Would you like to show me how you do that again, Suzie. Like in the pictures?”
A question from me was a trigger for her desire to answer it with words or with deeds—and action always speaks louder . . . well, you know the cliché.
In moments, my video-cam was recording her as she plunged two fingers into her panties and rolled one exposed nipple vigorously with the free hand. The squishing sounds were loud enough to be picked up by the microphone. God, she was beautiful! I mean, there are very few things in this world more beautiful than a good-looking blonde pleasuring herself, but I have to admit she was made exceptionally beautiful in this instance by the sweet bouquet of revenge rolling around on my palette, like a swig of fine wine. I realized that this was not exactly the height of moral behavior on my part—using an illicit, if not precisely illegal substance to take revenge on a woman who had done me wrong was not something St. Peter would be patting me on the back for when it came time to make my way to the pearly gates—but, y’know, sometimes you just say “fuck it.” Or, in this case, “fuck her”!
She was getting close now. I remembered the telltale way she would bite at her upper lip just before exploding. There was a thin sheen of sweat over her entire body, her pussy hair was matted with juice and her toes curled even as her legs began to vibrate. I just couldn’t resist extending the torture.
“Why can’t you come, Suze?” And I could see the frustration in her face and the increased tension in her body as my simple question caused her orgasm to recede ever so slightly. I watched her struggle to get it back, but it stayed right there, on the edge.
“Do you need me to get you off?”
Her eyes snapped open and she stared at me. It was an interesting expression—part loathing of what she was finding herself compelled to do, part naked lust. A moan that combined similar feral qualities escaped her lips. Then, a panting, “Yes! Oh, God, please! Yes!”
“Then you’d better keep yourself ready for me while I get this camera on a tripod, hadn’t you?”
Another of those moans curled from her throat, her eyelids fluttered and I could see whites as she redoubled her finger’s futile efforts.
It took me a minute of doodling with the camera and tripod to get them hooked up and pointed just so. I ran an S-video cable into the back of the TV, so I could watch the action unfold and position myself properly. She was so busy trying to get off, she hardly noticed and, when I turned the camera back on, it was as though I’d never turned it off—groans and slurping noises from the heaving blonde porn star on the couch filled the screen. I took off my clothes and stepped into the frame in such a way that there was a clear image of me from the knees to the waist, cock in hand.
“Hey, Suzie, don’t you want some of this?”
Again, her eyes popped open. Her hand never stopped moving, but it did slow slightly as she licked her lips.
She was on me like a shot and, before I knew it, had my cock plunging in and out of her throat. She always was good at this, I remembered, between jolts of ecstasy. From the root to the head, I was slavered with salivary goodness. I glanced down at her and found her looking up at me, the glint of a satisfied smile in her eyes. She thought she had me, like she used to. She’d get me on the edge and keep me there for what seemed like hours, then stop and roll over and stick a cock-ring on me. It’s not that I didn’t enjoy dicking her long and hard, but with Susan, it was always, always about her getting her rocks off a few dozen times before she’d even consider letting me come—and the Princess never, ever let me come in her mouth.
So, that look she was giving me right then? Fuel to the vengeful flames, baby.
“Don’t you want to suck it, bitch?” I said, right into her power-trip eyes. “And swallow every drop?”
Again, she blanched. Hungry as she was for some cock, the last thing she expected was that I was going to drop my load down her for-all-I-knew-still-pristine throat. She was expecting some good, old fashioned fucking and a few dozen big ones, like in the old days.
“I think you’ll find a big surprise at the end of my stick, baby, if you suck it right.”
And her sudden fear was forgotten. She redoubled her efforts, her tongue tickling the underside of my dick like she was a pro in a hurry. The meaning of my little comment hadn’t escaped her and her instant surrender to it made it clear that she understood her role now.
I must I have dumped a quart down her throat. With the first pulse of my prick and every wad she swallowed, until I was dry, she inched closer to her own release without ever quite getting there. She gasped around my dick, moaned in frustration and longing, trembled and writhed against my legs, her hands gripping my butt-cheeks as she went back for more of the precious jiz that promised joy . . . but wasn’t going to deliver unless I said the magic words.
When I was done, I was weak in the knees and ready to sit down, so I stepped back, out of the frame of the camera lens and the image on the TV, leaving her there, gasping, rubbing her tits and diddling at her clit with quick, stabbing movements.
“Suze,” I said, once I’d seated myself on a nearby ottoman, “It isn’t going to happen unless I say it can.”
She looked at me hard, all the anger drained out of her gaze and replaced by pure, horny desire. She didn’t even question the veracity of what I’d said, only nodded slightly, as if to say, “Okay, what do I do now?”
“Get dressed and get out,” I said. It was now or never. She’d drunk the Kool-Aid, as they say, and it was time to push her to her limit.
“But . . . I want to stay,” she whimpered, “I—I’ll do anything you ask. Please?”
And I almost bought it. She looked so pathetic and sexy all at once—a sheen of sweat covered her from head to toe, her hair was matted, above and below, and she smelled of her own juices. She’d swallowed very efficiently, so there was no trace of my spunk on her face, but even from here, I could tell she had a mean case of dick breath.
“Then you’ll get dressed and get out. I’ll call you when I need you.”
I figured I’d let her go back to her little life with Barry and taste the pain and humiliation for a bit. He wasn’t going to be able to do it for her any more, even the little bit of it he’d been doing. No way he could compete with the hold I now had over her.
She didn’t argue any more, although her eyes still pleaded with me. I had her leave her underwear in my laundry and just wear her blouse, skirt, choker, and little boots home. The choker gave me an idea for later.
She made a half-hearted pass at the book of photographs, but I just shook my head. She sighed slightly, realizing that, not only was she not getting what she had come for in the first place, she’d also probably lost any chance of getting free from me ever again. I liked that she realized this, but didn’t really want her totally resigned to her fate yet. Her breathing was still a bit shallow and her cheeks flushed from being so turned on, so close to the edge for so long.
“Suzie, a couple of things before you go.” She shivered a little at the diminutive form of her name. It went right to her pussy now and, as close as she still was, sent a bolt of pleasure deep into her core. “It took some nerve to walk in here tonight. I’m not sure you get how nervy it was, ‘cause to you it probably seemed like a no-brainer that I’d give up the pictures for a little bit of nookie from you, and nobody any the wiser. To me, it was just another example of what a self-absorbed little bitch you are. But you are a good lay and you give good head and I like to think I had a lot to do with you getting good at those things so, as payback for the hurt you put on me, I’m going to take over your life.
“In fact, it’s not your life anymore. It’s going to change completely. You’ll still work and keep yourself up and be with your friends and, for now at least, you’ll still be with Barry. We’re not getting back together or anything—you’re just my slut. You’re not going to tell anybody anything about this, but when I call, you drop what you’re doing and you do what I tell you. I’m going to use you as I see fit and give you to whoever I want to give you to and you’re going to feel the shame and humiliation you’re feeling right now for every minute of whatever I put you through—but you’re also going to learn that part of you wants it, because you can’t live without this . . . “
And I leaned over and whispered one of the phrases I’d implanted as a post-hypnotic suggestions: “Slut of diamonds, come for me.”
And, like a good little slut, the third of my aces, she came. And came hard. Standing in my doorway, she went from trembling, on-edge and teary-eyed to epileptic rag doll. Her eyes rolled back in her head, her knees gave way and she collapsed onto me. I eased her to the floor where she convulsed in the throes of the deepest, richest and most satisfying orgasm she’d ever known—the one that I’d dug out of her subconscious and detached from all the psychological threads of restraint that keep it in check. When she regained some small control of her limbs, her hands went straight to her tits and pussy, popping the buttons on her blouse and rucking up her skirt to try and extend the pleasure in the moment.
After a good three minutes, she slowly opened her eyes. She looked like she’d just had a hit of heroin. Her pupils were tiny, her eyelids heavy. Her breathing slowed to something long, slow and deep, though not quite even. That would take a bit longer.
When she spoke, her voice was hoarse, throaty—very hot.
“Oh my God, Paul! That . . . that was the most incredible . . . I don’t know how to describe . . .” She licked her lips, trying to look sexy for me, without any awareness that she looked like a junkie whore after a night on the street. “Can I . . . could you . . . ?”
“Can’t do it now, babe.” With my eyes, I implied that there could be dire consequences. It wasn’t true, but I wanted her to discover for herself how much she now needed what I’d just given her. A few days with nothing after that little feast and she’d be even more willing and appreciative—and desperate for it--next time.
“Get out now.” The bastard was back, but this time she didn’t react with even a flash of anger or a plea for more, she just stood, albeit shakily, collected herself as best she could considering her shirt wouldn’t completely button anymore, her skirt was a wrinkled wreck and she had no underwear, and walked out the door. I stood there as she made her way down the stairs. At the bottom of the steps, she stopped for just a moment, looked back up at me with a touch of her now-bottomless desire for me creeping back into her eyes and her voice and said, simply, “Call me?”
“I’ll be calling, Suzie. Don’t you worry.”
A relieved smile darted across her face as she turned back toward her car and, I had no doubt, a late date with Dr. Barry.
Boy, was he in for a shock.