She was only slightly more than an acquaintance, but with a similar appreciation for an obscure band, we made plans to go to a show together. Besides that, I don’t have many female friends, and I thought it would be good for me to develop a female friendship.
She’s very pretty, in her mid-twenties, with a youthfulness and purity that I’ve never possessed, even when I was her age. She has course dark hair, nearly black, unblemished olive skin, and deep brown eyes. Her lips are full and pink and she smiles more easily than I do, which is saying something. She smiles quickly, but not completely. My guess is that she hides her teeth, which are brilliant white, with one crooked canine that makes her full smile look girlish and immature.
I parked at the venue, called her to let her know I was there, and walked to a nearby bar to meet. She stood up awkwardly as I approached, but kept her eyes slightly downcast until I was near enough for her to kiss my cheek in greeting. She made eye contact only after I was seated.
As soon as I sat, the bartender rushed over and set my favorite cocktail in front of me.
I looked over at her.
“I ordered for you when you called so you wouldn’t have to wait,” she smiled slightly.
Good girl, I thought, returning her smile.
Good girl. That was all it took to flip the switch in my brain.
It almost seemed a shame that I wasn’t attracted to her so much as I was attracted to her approach towards me. I’ve met a few submissive men, and I’m not automatically attracted to their submissiveness, and I’ve known quite a few beautiful women and I’ve never been automatically attracted to their beauty. But this girl, her combination of youth, beauty, and what I read as an instantaneous dynamic was difficult to ignore.
We chatted through drinks and I couldn’t help but notice her body, her movements, the way she somehow managed to look up at me even though we were nearly the same height.
On the way back to the venue, she wanted to stop to get something from her car. It was a short walk, and we realized we still had a few minutes to kill before the venue opened its doors. We sat in her car and chatted about this and that.
I wanted to take something before the show. I fished around in my purse for the container, popped a pill into my mouth, and swallowed.
I asked her if she wanted one. She did.
I have no idea what possessed me, but I put the pill in my mouth, leaned across the stick shift, and kissed her, pushing the little tablet past her lips, kissing it into her mouth.
I settled back into my seat and turned to see her reaction. She looked as if I had just slapped her.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been so forward.”
I didn’t mean it. I wasn’t sorry. She was delicious and soft and I wanted more of her.
“No. It’s fine. I was hoping…”
Her words trailed off as she leaned over towards me, leading with pursed lips that would have been so fucking sexy… if only I had leaned in to meet her. I didn’t. I left her hanging there, with eyes closed and lips parted, and I got out of the car. When she got out, I saw her face was flushed. She was embarrassed.
And then I knew I had her — it was almost too easy. It felt predatory, and I liked it.
While we waited outside to get into the club, I couldn’t help but compare the way I felt with this girl to the way I feel when I’m with J. Sometimes it’s hard to feel dominant around him, especially in public. J is so tall and imposing, with cold eyes, strong hands, and hard angles. This girl was all warmth and softness. She was small and sweet and too easily read. Like me, her every thought played across her face and showed in her movements.
We got inside and she ordered our drinks while I watched her from a few feet away. When I gave her my credit card to start a tab, she started to argue, but I insisted. At the bar, she turned and looked at me, asking for approval. I nodded, she lowered her eyes, and turned away from me to give the bartender my card.
We sat in the back row and talked over the din of arriving crowds. At some point, I slipped my arm behind her chair and played with her hair, tugging gently, wrapping it around my fingers. It felt so different from mine — her hair was coarse and thick, mine is smooth and glossy. I wondered if it smelled different, too. I tangled my fingers into her tresses and pulled her head towards me — she offered no resistance. I let my lips brush the outside of her ear while I inhaled her — she smelled clean, like plain soap and water.
She nearly melted into me. When I finally released her, she exhaled — she had been holding her breath.
The show started — coarse and gritty and so loud it vibrated the seats. I was immediately interested in the equipment–the odd configuration of the drum kit, what I thought was a Modulus bass, an unidentifiable Stratocaster with lots of distortion.
Her attention to me was distracting and made her look out of place in her surroundings. It was dark and dirty and the music was pounding, but she sat nearly motionless, eyes dreamy, lips slightly parted. Whenever she turned to me or leaned in towards me, I’d tighten my hold on her neck and turn her head to focus her attention back to the stage.
When she eventually refocused at end of the first set, I found myself missing her attention.
During the break, we wandered to the bar and I stopped just short. She stepped in and ordered our drinks, looking sheepish when she directed the bartender to put it on my tab.
We chatted and flirted, and I couldn’t help but notice her body positions and movements in relation to mine. She was in slow orbit, moving, but attached with an invisible tether. I moved; she moved.
We found our seats just before the second set opened. When the house lights went down and the front lights went up, I wrapped my hand around her neck and twisted her face into mine. I tasted her, gently at first, sliding my tongue between her parted lips, giving her a moment to open up to me. The second she relaxed and gave in, I gripped the back of her neck and mauled her, shoving my tongue deep inside her mouth, prying her open. I wanted to suck the breath from her lungs and I knew she would have let me. She was soft and sweet and yielding.
I pulled my lips away from hers abruptly, leaving her mouth gaping and eyes shut tight, her face still twisted up towards mine. I didn’t say a word, but watched her regain her composure, smoothing down her hair, touching her lips as if to see if they were damaged.
We watched the rest of the show like this, with my stopping intermittently to kiss her and to paw at her. All the while, I was wondering how far I might take it.
After the lights came up, we wandered out of the club with everyone else and I walked her back to her car.
She had no intentions of getting in right away — she didn’t take out her keys. Instead, she turned to face me and leaned against her car door. Her arms hung at her sides awkwardly — she was making herself open to me — for a kiss, or maybe something more. She wanted more.
And that’s one of the things I like about taking the dominant role in a dynamic — the power to give someone what they want… or not.
As I walked to her, she parted her lips and closed her eyes, bracing herself for another mauling. Instead, I leaned in to her softly, touched my lips to her cheek, and inhaled her sweetness one last time before stepping away and saying “goodnight.”
“Can I call you?” she asked.
I turned and began to walk away.
“Will you answer?” she asked behind me in a small, melodic voice.
I wasn’t sure that I would. I turned back to her for a moment, smiled, and kept walking.
Listen carefully, boy. I’m going to tell you what I want, so pay attention. I’m feeling restless and selfish and I want your mouth. I need you to make me come… [read more]
|please fuck me
As I played with him, his small sounds became more and more pleading, more urgent, more needy. “Please?” he whispered… [read more]
I think of you stretched and bound, and I imagine kissing you into comfort, into submission, into the malleable shape of a man worth my hands and my direction… [read more]