It was a long night. They rarely got together anymore, as was all too common amongst newly graduated college-friends. So, on such occasions where the stars aligned and eight busy technically-adults were able to get together, they tried to make every second count. Two members of the group had to leave, regretfully of course, just around midnight. They both worked the morning shift, and so cut themselves off after one or two beers. The rest of the group felt no need to restrain themselves. Drinking game after drinking game was played, each one trying less and less hard to disguise the true objective of getting absolutely fucking hammered. The group bled members as the night continued. A few people passed out after the third round of stack cup. Another fell asleep in their pajamas while everyone watched "The Fly". A few more had to tap out after the final round of tequila shots. Finally, at 3:00AM, there remained only one person left conscious.
Her name was Cassidy, and she was stone cold sober.
While the others were making mixed drinks that could only be described as flammable, she was sipping on seltzer water. If her friends hadn't been so busying pouring vodka shots down their throats, they might have noticed that hers were going down the sink drain. She played the part well enough; laughing too hard at unfunny jokes, wobbling when she stood up, even slurring her words a little. But truth be told, she had less than a thimble full of liquor over the course of the night. Normally, she would drink the rest of them under the table without a second thought. She was the largest out of the group, dwarfing even the men by several inches and a dozen pounds, and so naturally had the highest alcohol tolerance. She would normally take great joy in lording her size over the others, be it stealing a friend's drink and holding it out of reach over their heads, or wrestling a man to the ground and mocking him for losing to a girl. But tonight was different. There were no games, no horseplay, no drinking. No, tonight, Cassidy had a goal.
She was going to make him her bitch.
His name was Tom, and he had royally fucked up. You see, he used to be her boyfriend. They only dated for a month or so back in college before deciding they'd be better off as friends. Or at least, he had decided that. Tom was shy, a sweetheart, the kind of guy that didn't speak up if the waiter brought him the wrong meal. Cassidy was loud, confident, with the kind of extroverted charisma that Tom found equal parts charming and abrasive. He was drawn to her, at first, probably because she scared him a little. And she was drawn to him, probably because she liked men who scare easily. At first, all was well. There was certainly a mutual attraction between them, and despite having opposite dispositions, they got along well enough.
The problems began to arise once they started taking things to the bedroom. Cassidy was, in a word, dominant. She liked overpowering people, making them feel helpless, humiliating them until there were tears in her eyes. Simply put, vulnerability got her off, and being as large and strong as she was, it was easy to exploit that vulnerability. Tom wasn't spared any of that treatment; at 5'5" he was substantially shorter than her, and only half as strong. The first time they had sex, he expected it to go normally: There would be some light foreplay, she would blush chastely as he gently took off her pants, then missionary for three minutes and they could call it a day.
So, you can imagine his surprise when Cassidy slapped him across the face, ripped off his clothing, and threw him onto the bed. He barely had time to sneak in a word of protest before she was pinning his ankles to his ears.
"Shut the fuck up, slut."
That was all she said, before sliding him into her and fucking him amazon style until his eyes rolled back into his head. He must have came three times, his hypersensitive cock constantly under assault, begging her to stop through gasps and moans. But she didn't stop pounding her hips into him until she was satisfied, until there were tears streaming down his face and drool dripping from his mouth. She mocked him all the while, calling him pathetic, telling him he moaned like a little bitch, daring him to try and escape while knowing full well that he stood no chance of overpowering her.
They only had sex one more time after that, and it went much the same. A week or two later, Tom meekly broke the news: He liked her and all, but...things just weren't working out, you know? They still had all the same friends (the very people drunkenly passed out around them now), so they could still hang out, but he felt that they just weren't compatible. He didn't say: Cassidy, I'm breaking up with you because you routinely shatter my masculinity through violent sexual humiliation, but he didn't need to. That much was implied by the deep crimson on his cheeks as he dumped her.
She took the rejection well, at least on the surface, and played nice for the rest of college. They hung out, they studied, the friend group didn't have to "pick sides". Tom was hesitant at first, worried that she'd hold some kind of grudge, but eventually the two regained the sort of easy banter that made them friends in the first place. He assumed that she'd moved on, gotten over him; that she agreed they should just be friends.
But he was wrong.
You see, Cassidy had a particularly strict stance when it came to her sexual partners. In her mind, once she had topped a boy, he was hers now. Especially if she totally and completely dominated them in the way she had with Tom. He was really going to cry and beg one moment, completely submissive and at her mercy, then ask for a breakup the next? As if little bitches got to decide things for themselves? No, that wouldn't do at all. The second he invited her into his bedroom, he had made a choice. He was hers now, whether he knew it or not.
She just had to remind him of that fact.
And so, she had planned, and waited, and schemed. And it was all coming to a head tonight. She walked into the living room, lit only by the gentle blue light of tv screen. Four of her friends lay sprawled in various places around the room, in sleeping bags on the floor, on the love seat, cuddled up on the couch. She ignored them, tip-toeing past to reach her prey. Tom lay by himself on a small couch, covered only by a thin blanket that was falling off onto the ground. She hungrily ran her eyes over him. He was sound asleep, deep into a drunken slumber. He had stripped himself down to his boxers, leaving most of body exposed. One arm reached behind his head, while the other dangled off the side of the couch, his fingers brushing the floor.
Cassidy could feel herself getting wet already. Just the sight of him there, helpless, completely unaware of what was about to happen, was enough to get her blood pumping. She sat down softly near his waist, careful not to disturb him. She traced a single finger down the length of his torso, dragging her long nails from collar bone down to his waist. He twitched a little when she passed over his nipple, but other than that he remained completely still.
"Perfect." She whispered, smiling at how well her plan had worked.
