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.
