These wounds that she was nursing almost resembled a broken heart. She didn't like to think of it that way. But here she was months later still licking her bruised ego and failing to convince herself that there wasn't something inside her scattered into pieces.
She hadn't known he was a heartbreaker until that moment when he stood in front of her and slowly unbuttoned her shirt. It was there in the act of his fingers slowly but confidently fumbling to undo each button. No one had ever stripped her like that. Like she was a prize to be slowly savored and enjoyed but also as if she was utterly subservient to the hands slowly parting the slinky fabric of her shirt. She knew then that he was going to be a heartbreaker because she had never been with a man who had the confidence that he did. No, not just confidence. Arrogance and cockiness. Oh, a delicious blend: he was vulgar, he was cocky, and he was the best fuck she had encountered in her life.
She knew that she was young. She knew that there was an ocean of men out there; fresh fish in the sea, or something like that. There would be more great fucks and confident men who knew how to use their hands, their mouths, their cocks...that was another thing, he was also the first man that really knew how to use all of the parts of his body to his advantage. It was as if he didn't let any parts of his body go to waste, they all found ways to caress and tease her own body.
They used to lie in bed together and he would use his leg to part her thighs and then his knee would rise pressing up against her wet sex. He'd wrap his strong lower leg around one of her legs so she stood no chance at slipping away. Then he'd slowly start rotating that bony knee back and forth across her wet pussy. She would be trapped and her legs held captive had nothing to their defense but rocking and shuddering. She'd move and his knee would grind deeper into her sex, parting her nether lips and bumping her clit.
Sometimes it felt like his knee was thumping her sex like that for hours. She'd squirm and eventually get the surface of his knee so slippery and wet that every delicate inch of her sex would feel inflamed and tortured; pressed against his knee trying to hold off on the urge to swivel her hips and hump his knee. The urge would always overwhelm her and she would end up humping away and cumming furiously upon that knobbed surface of his body. Maybe the knee thing just sounds strange. It had felt strange to her at first. Who has heard of getting off by someone's knee? But it was just one of the many creative ways he conjured up to drive her mad.
Back then she used to cum so much that it nearly felt as if her body was permanently sore. She'd cum over and over again. She'd cum and think that there wasn't any possible way that her exhausted body could muster up another muscle contraction but then he'd bend down and flick his tongue against her clit or he'd do that thing with his cock inside her, that signature little move that made it feel as if he was drawing circles against the entrance to her cervix. Everything with him seemed to border upon pain and pleasure, so close to that edge where she'd scream and cry begging enough is enough.
Then it came true. Enough was enough. He left her. It stung but the shock was subdued with the reminder of her intuition. She had known it would come. Knew a man like him couldn't stay for long with just one woman. He couldn't even stay for long in one location. She went up there one night; it was they're usual meeting time and everything. He just wasn't there. The apartment was empty, not a trace of any of the passion that had been housed there. None of the neighbors, the landlord, no one knew where he had taken off. She knew that she would never see him again. Her cunt knew it too. Her insides felt hollow.
For months she mourned the loss of her lover. She never conjured up anger towards him. He had prepared her for this in many ways, keeping the distance between them when it came to intimacy and commitment. He had told her of his ways. His ways had been worth it. Even with the deep longing that was left inside her. Her cunt felt like it would never be filled again. Her clit felt like it shrunk up and hid under the skin. Time passed and it felt as if the only sexual stirrings left inside her body was roused only with the faint memory of him: a thought, a smell, a taste in the back of her throat that she swore was a stain from the many times he came spilling his seed down her throat. Every part of him seemed to touch her depths and now she didn't know how to get back into dating, into any sexual contact. She feared that everything would pale in comparison to the intensity that she had shared with him.
She had known that it was time to get back into the swing of things. Her body hadn't woken up, nor had her heart, but her mind had begun to inquire about possibilities. She felt a little shy and uncertain. She wasn't quite sure what she was looking for now and certainly didn't know where to find a good time.
That's the mood that found her one-day while sitting in front of the computer and chatting online with an acquaintance. This acquaintance had inquired about the status of her current love life and she trusted this particular friend. She gave him warning in advance, making sure he was ready to sit back and listen to the story in entirety. He was curious and so she confessed the whole sad tale, leaving out certain details about the sexual passion such as the knee story.
Her online acquaintance had a good ear, he asked questions about her feelings, and he was sympathetic. At the end he asked her if it was ok if he made an offer. She didn't understand where the question was headed but she told him yes. He confessed to some feelings of attraction towards her and told her that he would be an ideal person for her sexual healing (yes he actually said sexual healing.) She was flattered by his confessed attraction and they had exchanged photos before so she knew that he was attractive. The offer was tempting and she couldn't find a reason to say no. He was polite, gentle, and eager. What could go wrong?
She told him that she was up for it. He told her how happy he was and that he knew just what she needed to forget all about her lost arrogant lover. She found that hard to believe but she did find herself getting intrigued and slightly excited. "Are you free tomorrow night?" she asked him.
"Actually I am free tonight and don't know how much longer I can wait to finally experience you," he replied. She didn't have any plans for the evening but still she hesitated. She didn't usually jump into something like this so quickly. Ah, what the hell.
"Great. Let's meet up tonight then" she told him. They made plans to meet up at his place in just a couple of hours and she thought the conversation was over but then he popped one more question.
"Are you comfortable with being dominated?" he asked.
"Sure." She replied.
"Like really being dominated? Me running the entire show and pushing your limits?" he slowly typed in return.
She thought about it for a moment. He seemed like a pretty rational and safe guy. She didn't think he'd push her into anything dangerous or into a crazy BDSM scene.
"I wouldn't do anything to cause you physical harm or distress," he added in before she gave her answer.
"Yes. I trust you," was her reply back. Her heart began to pound. It felt good to say that she trusted someone. It felt sexy to be preparing for a type of sexual invitation that she had never quite had before.
"Then I'd like to request that you show up wearing a specific outfit," he told her.
"Anything you want," she promised.
"I want you to arrive at my house wearing a short skirt. But not a skirt that is so tight that it hugs and clings to your body. I want to be able to easily raise the skirt up to your waist. Maybe lay you over my lap and give you a gentle spanking...I want you to be wearing your favorite skimpiest pair of underwear or thong under that skirt and go braless wearing a tank top or halter-top. I want to see as much of your bare back and shoulders."
"Ok." she typed back. They exchanged good byes and said that they'd see each other in just a few hours.
She got off the computer and headed right over to her closet. She easily found the outfit that she would wear. Picking out the clothes perked her mood even farther and she found herself humming and giggling in excitement. She was going to get laid tonight and she figured the context would be an experience she'd never forget.
She selected a black skirt that clung to her hips with the hem hitting mid thigh. The material was silky and clingy but had an elastic waist that made it easy to slide in and out of. She stood in front of her mirror wearing just the skirt and slowly turned around. Her head peeking over her shoulder, she raised the skirt up to her waist, revealing her bare ass and imagining what it would feel like to feel his hands coming down over her soft flesh, spanking her like she was a bad little girl.
From her expansive underwear drawer she held up a skimpy g-string in completely sheer deep purple fabric with thin velvet vines and flowers interwoven across the skimpy patch of fabric that would cling to her sex. Oh yes, this would do just wonderfully, she thought to herself as she bent down to pull the slinky thong up and over her legs. Once she had the g-string in place she couldn't help but to delicately run her fingertips across the fabric covering her cunt. She felt the silken cloth dampen over her fingertips and she let out a sigh as she ran her fingertips higher. She loved the way the sheer material clung to her hairless lips and mound. She pulled her fingers away with a sigh. She didn't want to arrive and have her underwear completely wet and dripping. That could be a little over eager, a tad bit embarrassing to her. As sexual as she was, she still found herself a little self-conscious when it came to her lust and the arousal of her body. God, it had been ages since she had felt so alive with lust.
The last bit to her outfit was a velvet and lace skimpy tank top that had a splayed open neckline to showcase the top of her breasts and matched her g-string in a deep dark purple.
She looked at herself in the mirror as she idly ran a brush through her long thick hair. She smeared a dab of purple eye shadow across each eyelid and glossed her lips in a soft hint of red.
Standing back and looking at herself in the mirror she was pleased with appearance. She always considered herself sorta pretty but she thought it bordered on an average female appearance. Tonight she was pleased to note that she looked beyond average. She looked sexy, a little wild, and a little slutty. Her long dark hair hit her mid-back and as she spun around slowly in front of the mirror she loved the way her hair whipped around loose and wavy, deep red streaks here and there highlighting the purple in her top. She bent forward in front of the mirror and loved the way her small b-cup breasts spilled out the neckline of the shirt, nearly exposing each erect nipple. She curled her glossy lips into a sly grin, "fuck you heartbreak." She was ready to fuck away all the memories of the man who awakened her body and then discarded and abandoned her.
Her confidence was still riding with her but her heart was pounding as she stood in front of the door to his house and nervously raised her knuckles in a light rapping.
The door opened quickly and there he was standing before her. "My god, you look gorgeous." He held his hand out to her palm open and waiting for her to place her hand into his. She smiled nervously and told him that he looked just as good then let her small hand be enveloped by his. Handholding was a polite and romantic first gesture and she enjoyed the strength of his hand wrapped around her own. He gently pulled her into his living room but continued to walk and lightly tug her along as she got distracted and starred around the room. "I actually want to take you into the dining room," he said to her.
