Childish Revenge

Please note: This is based in truth. I was poor and plain and very, very smart. I did have a horrid tormentor named Jason; there were a few others, but he stood out. Years later, after I grew into myself, he saw me out at a club and was overly surprised by how I looked. I did blow him off, but not the way I did here!

Revenge IS a dish best served cold.

Growing up, she wasn't pretty. She was plain, and a bit overweight. Definitely not 'look at the fat girl' material, but at an age where every flaw was amplified, every difference from the norm was considered major, and conformity was king, she stood out in a bad way, though she didn't stand out at all. Plain, mousy brown hair, average height, and on the poor side of middle class, you wouldn't notice her if she was on fire. It didn't help that her brother was a total asshole. People didn't like him, so she never had a shot. His reputation preceded her. The only things she had going for her were pretty blue eyes, a load of brains, and a positive attitude.

She was picked on mercilessly, cruelly even, by one boy in particular, Jason. He wasn't the only one, but he was the ringleader, and when he wasn't around she found that she was actually tolerated by others. She wished his bouts of general childhood malaise would last forever, but no, he'd show up after a few days off or after school let back in for holidays, and start all over again. Made fun of for her cheap clothes, her lack of friends, her brains, and her pudge, she still managed to keep a positive outlook. He made up horrid nicknames for her, threw stuff at her when the teachers weren't looking, hid her stuff, and whatever else he could think of to torment her. It wasn't because he liked her, either. He was just a jerk. She didn't even know what was so great about him. He wasn't rich, good looking, smart, or charismatic. He didn't have a huge circle of friends, but the ones he did have followed his every move. He always pointed out her shortcomings, at one point telling her she should either join a convent or kill herself because no one would ever want her.

She was a reader and had read many books along the Ugly Duckling storyline. She knew life had something better planned for her and she kept that in her heart. It carried her through the ebb and flow of life, through growing up and moving out. It kept her through shitty, demeaning jobs, bad relationships, and life in general.

She finally landed her dream job in her late 20s and things began to get better. Having a well-paying job allowed her to have the nice clothes, coiffed hair, now a warm brown with blonde streaks, makeup and perfume and lotions she never could afford. It allowed her the freedom to go where she wanted and do what she wanted. She grew out of her awkward looks, and while not supermodel material, she was definitely one of the more attractive women most people met in their day. Her pretty blue eyes were accentuated with sultry brown shadows, her long lashes mascaraed to unbelievable heights. Full lips, the lower lush and pouty, covered straight, white teeth. She never lost all of her curves, but the pudge was gone, and her hourglass figure was lovely.

One night, while finishing up at work, she overheard some customers talking about a new band playing that night. It was a band from out of town, but nearby, and sounded like it might be a good show. She had nothing better to do, being off the next day, and hadn't been out in a while out of sheer busyness, so she decided to see what it was about. Being that she had grown up alone, she was good company for herself. She was also secure enough to go places by herself. She knew way too many people who would never sit in a restaurant alone, or go see a movie by themselves. She took it as an opportunity to perhaps meet someone who otherwise may not approach her if she were with someone.

She went home, took a good long relaxing shower, washed her hair, exfoliated and lotioned her waxed legs. She dressed semi-casual; just a nice pair of well fitting, flattering jeans, cute, comfy shoes (because she couldn't stand to have her feet hurting by night's end) and a dressy blouse in a Pucci-esque print, not too low cut but flirty. She changed from her plain gold hoops to some sparkly, dangly earrings and a matching necklace, and grabbed a small purse for her wallet, lipstick and keys.

She intended to have a few drinks early in the night, giving her time to sober up and drive home. She never, ever drove drunk. The club was not far from her house, so worst case, she'd get a cab and hitch a ride to get her car the next day. Arriving well before the show, the club was about half-full. She wandered around, checking out the interior, finding her way to the restroom before it got too crowded with women fixing makeup, talking trash, and planning their conquests.

The club eventually filled up, the opening band played a few songs, and then the headliner show began. She had her few drinks in her, but wanted one more to tide her over, so she made her way to the bar. While she was walking, she was bumped into by a guy. Average looking, nice features, nothing special about him, but he caught her eye. She knew him, just couldn't figure out where from. She stared for a moment, trying to place him and then it came to her. Jason. He had no clue who she was from the way he looked at her. There was no recognition in his eyes, and the deferential way he apologized repeatedly assured her that he didn't know she was the pudgy, mousy girl he picked on. He offered to buy her next drink, which she knew was just an opening. It was no big deal that he bumped into her, so why all the apologies and a drink? There was no ring on his finger, and from his looks, he hadn't made the big time. She decided to at least get a drink for all the bullying.

He bought her the drink and she blew him off politely. He followed her for a while, then she lost him. Then he found her. When she realized he wasn't going to leave her alone, she decided she was going to make the most of it. She was going to get drunk on his dime and then make him give her a ride home, lead him on, and then dump him at the door. Let him go home suffering; she'd block his number from her cell phone that he'd entered into his own phone after taking hers and calling himself. He was still a loser, and he still had no idea who she was.

On the way to a nearby hotel because she was not bringing him home, he tried to make his move, thinking she was drunker than she was. It took more than a few, spaced out over several hours, to do her in and she was still in control, albeit more willing now to tell him off in a way that she never would were she sober. When they got to the room, he practically begged her for a kiss. As badly as she had treated him through the night, it was obviously the only female attention he'd had in a long time. In a way, she felt sorry for him because she knew what that rejection and disdain felt like.

She made him pay for a room for her then invited him in after getting to the room. She would give him attention but not the kind he expected. She was going to make him do what she wanted him to do. He would have to take care of himself later but she was going to get something else out of the night. Inside the living room, she made him wait while she changed. She took off her jewelry and her jeans and blouse, kicked off her shoes but left on her bra and panties. The panties were low slung on her hips but high cut in the back, leaving the bottoms of her cheeks visible. The crotch was just a little strip of fabric, barely more than enough to cover her waxed pussy. The bra was edged in thick lace which left her nipples visible while still covering them. Pulling the cups down, she tweaked and twisted her nipples until they stood hard, little bullets under the lace.

She reached down and rubbed her clitoris, sitting on the edge of the bed with her legs spread, enjoying her own slow stroking of the smooth, soft skin. When she felt herself getting wet, she rubbed her juices over her clit, making it harder and slippery. She put on a hotel robe that hid little and headed back into the living room.

He was waiting for her, looking around like he was lost. When he heard the door close, he turned and gasped. Before she said anything, he dropped to his knees and begged her to let him eat her pussy. He was to the point of groveling when she let him smell her fingers, her sweet, heady scent still on them. He was in a frenzy, pleading with her to let him touch her. She sat on the sofa and spread her legs. The thin material didn't cover her pubis completely, and he could see her pink, swelling lips poking out. She reached down and stroked herself through the material, occasionally letting her fingers slip underneath. The crotch was soaked with her honey, and she could smell herself in the air. She lay back, the robe falling open, and slowly stroked up her body until she reached her hardened nipples. She made lazy circles through the lace, occasionally pinching and pulling, making them harder and darker.

He reached for her and she froze him with a barked out "No!" While he waited, she said, "You're going to do what I say, when I say it, whether you like it or not, and right now I say that you can only watch. You haven't earned the right to touch me."

Never so forceful, it felt great. She was in control as she had never been, with him or any other man. This one in particular made her feel powerful enough to do anything. She removed her robe, lifting her ass off the sofa to get it out from under her, making sure she arched her wet pussy upward. Her manipulations caused the crotch of the panties to ride into her slit, the slightly rough fabric rubbing her clit with new sensations. Sighing, she lay back again and pulled her bra off her shoulders, watching her flushed breasts come into view. She reached for the nipples, pulling them almost painfully hard, blood suffusing them, making them even more sensitive. He was a watching statue.

She moaned, playing with her nipples until they throbbed, then rubbed down her body until her hands were on the insides of her thighs. She pushed her thighs apart far enough to be almost uncomfortable, giving him the full view of her prize, covered only by her panties. She reached down the front of her panties, really just for show, to touch herself. She spread her outer lips, now dark pink and swollen and rubbed the fabric against her flesh. When saw his jaw slacken, she pulled the panties tighter into her slit, rubbing harder against herself, and then stood quickly and slipped them down her legs. She threw them to him, telling him to make do with those, she was too good for him.

He grabbed the panties, shoving them against his nose, breathing in her scent. He was whimpering and moaning, and reached down to stroke himself. She stopped him again with a sharp word, took off her bra, fondling and caressing her breasts again and lay back on the sofa. Stroking her sopping pussy, her juices dripping down her crack to her ass, she wanted to cum. She'd never masturbated in front of anyone before and it was more erotic than she could have ever imagined. She inserted two fingers into her hole, stroking in and out until her fingers were coated with her wetness. Spreading her legs as wide as she could, she stroked her clit, reaching down occasionally to pay attention to her pussy, and lower, to her pulsing pucker. Maybe she would make him lick her asshole. It would serve him right.

She fingerfucked herself, pounding her fingers into her pussy while the other hand circled her clit, until she came so hard that it almost hurt. Her crotch was soaked, her hand was, and there was a huge wet spot on the sofa. Thank goodness for MicroFiber. She then ordered him to come to her and turn around. She took the panties and tied them around his wrists, then made him get on his knees and lick her. She ordered him to lick all of her juice up, without getting any on his face. He had to work so hard to not bury his face in her dripping snatch while balancing without his hands.

When he licked her dry, she told him he would have to make her wet again. Mashing her pussy lips against her clit, causing it to bulge forward, she made him lick in long strokes, burying his tongue in her hole when she would let him. She worked her nipples reveling in the attention paid to the most sensitive places on her body at the same time, pulling and pinching. She knew they would hurt tomorrow but she didn't care. She rolled them around, twisting and rubbing them between her forefinger and the pads of her thumbs. It was time to humble him. She made him stop, then got on her knees on the sofa, arms draped over the back.

"Lick my asshole, tonguefuck it like you want to fuck my pussy." He paused, and when she asked what was taking so long, he replied that he had never licked a girl's ass before.

"Well, it's time you learn something new, now lick."

He began tentatively, softly, with his tongue flat. When she reprimanded him for not being too enthusiastic, he leaned, in and buried his tongue in her pucker. He tonguefucked her asshole, mumbling and moaning, sounding contented. She learned something too: she loved having her ass licked. She'd had it done once before, but it was just a perfunctory motion on the way to an awkward anal session.

She made him lick up and down her slit, arching her back down so that her entire pubis was presented for his ministrations. He moved up and down, from her clit to her ass and back again until she came again on his face. She sagged against the back of the sofa. He wanted to continue, but she made him stop. When she lay back down on the sofa, legs trembling, he begged her to let him fuck her. As much as she wanted a hard cock in her pussy, the last thing she was going to do was give him relief. She would rather masturbate again than let him fuck her. She took her panties from around his wrists, put the robe back on and made him leave. It took her forever to get him out the door, what with the begging and pleading. She told him that maybe if he was nice tonight she would get back together with him later. She had no intention of, but he didn't know that.

It was worth the harassing phone calls and texts after she finally got him to leave to know that the bane of her childhood existence had been debased to the point of being tied with her wet panties, made to lick her asshole, and then sent out the door with a raging hardon. Maybe one day she would tell him who she was; right now it was satisfying enough for her to know.