For a woman to feel and think the way she did
wasn't
loose morals, she battled with herself. When she was ten, she overheard her mother on a bitter rampage about dirty ladies who double-pierced their ears and carried prophylactics in their purse. At the time she had no idea what a prophylactic was but remembered thinking that having an extra earring sounded pretty exotic, and promptly got one at eighteen. When she stumbled onto her first porn magazine, left by accident in the bathroom of a childhood friends' grandfather, she was surprised to find only naked women within the pages. Later, as she explored pornographic films, (obtained only through mail-order in the brown wrapper marked 'the merchandise you ordered,' as if the mail carrier couldn't figure it out) she was consistently disappointed at how all of it was geared toward men. Happy to have any women viewers along for the ride, of course, but not as stimulating for the female demographic. Once she even tried ordering lesbian porn, hoping that at least in this genre they would show women connecting with their partners, but once again the implant-filled, bleached-blonde actresses catered straight to a male audience.
Now really
, she recalled thinking,
when do two naked girls waste their time giving a plastic dildo a blow job??
She found people still had a hard time accepting women as sexual creatures. Of course men loved a woman who loved sex, but old attitudes remained steadfast. When she was in college, her roommate was nicknamed a 'fraternity slut' because she slept with two "brothers" at different times. How sad to label a girl for liking to have sex! Nobody judged the college boys who fucked different women every weekend, but once a girl had made it with more than one guy she was immediately marked. And had these boys known about the few times she and her roommate lay naked and played with each other's bodies, they would have undoubtedly set off a whole other subset of frenzied judgments.
The mother of a longtime friend made a comment once that stuck with her until this day.
In a relationship,
she said
, men jack off to other women all the time, because boys will be boys. But a lady should bury all those naughty feelings inside and keep it to herself.
Internalize she did. Sometimes in her head she was a Temptress, calling upon her god-given sexual power to summon men to her, teasing them, watching them spin around her in heightened stimulation. She would give them just enough of herself to fire them up: a peek at her nipple, a taste of her own arousal, a flick of the tongue- then suddenly back off. The effect was addictive, almost like a drug. Wanting something you know you can have, but making it seem unattainable.
The fuck beyond your reach
.
Sometimes she was a fierce Dominatrix, a woman of excessive power. She directed men to pleasure her. In these fantasies she wasn't clad in leather and whips, with sexual torture devices or gothic play-chambers. Instead, she commanded her men to pleasure themselves in front of her. She loved to watch as they pulled their cocks, hands beating up and down fiercely. She loved seeing them come for her, faces strained, semen erupting on their hands. She demanded that they let her know when they were close- she loved hearing a man climax. Her own fingers often found their way inside of her, rubbing her clit as she thought about them grunting and panting as they shot off their warm loads.
Other times she fancied herself a twisted Damsel in distress who found her rescuer to be far less than a gentlemen. Those were her favorite dark and secret thoughts- the ones where she found herself in slight fear of her pursuer. He would shove her, push her on the bed and smother her until she could barely breathe. He would force her hands above her head, rip off her clothes, and, with desire consuming him, push her legs apart and shove his cock straight inside of her. It was pure, animalistic sex: grabbing, biting, scratching. There was always just enough pain and intimidation involved to push her usual limits.
Her fantasies consumed her. They say men think about sex every 30 seconds or so. But she never heard how often women thought about it. She was convinced she was abnormal. And she would never admit it to anyone. It had been a while since she had enjoyed a good fuck. She recalled the last time- break-up sex after her last lover had ended their relationship. His hand on the door to leave, they kissed one last time, and ended up in bed for a mediocre romp. Not even memorable enough to make her wet thinking back upon it. She needed pleasure soon.
On the evening of a weekend, in a town that could have been any metropolitan area (except that she called this particular one home), the same group of friends met at the usual club, bringing the latest entourage of friends-of-friends together to drink, all of them seeking the same thing. She had followed the time-honored ritual of the hopeful girl going out: shaving all her parts and spending extra time on her appearance in the off-chance she would get laid. They all did it, which is why a sweetly-perfumed pheromonal cloud now saturated the air around her and the other females. Her eyes scanned the room, sizing up the potentials as well as the competition, when she stopped to stare at a group of people talking.
She had seen him before, they had spoken about a concert they had both attended. Some mild flirting ensued, she had found him attractive, and liked his personality. She recalled that someone told her he had recently lost his sister to cancer, which probably explained why she hadn't seen in a while. He carried himself well, she thought... always dressed nicely and seemed to charm everyone he spoke to. As she lost herself in this thought he glanced up at her, as if listening to her internal dialogue. She blushed slightly and looked away, immediately focusing down on her glass.
Three more vodka tonics later and she had loosened up enough to gaze at his brown eyes. He was humoring another friend who was recounting a story, and smiled appropriately and attentively as it went on. He would catch her eye every chance he could, she no longer felt flush from his attention.
The story presumably finished, the friend acting as a barrier between them stood up and left to the bar. They both immediately saw the opportunity, but, as a cat would bait a mouse, she made no move and waited instead, counting on the male instinct to engage. Not five seconds later, under the pretense of needing to put down his drink on the table in front of them, he moved closer.
How have you been?
He inquired.
Horny and needing a good fuck
was what the Dominatrix in her brain wanted to say. Instead she smiled and they began a basic discourse. She wondered if he was taking inventory of her as they spoke- the words at the moment didn't matter anyways. She did watch his gaze move down to her breasts at one point but didn't say anything. He asked if she wanted another drink but her internal alarm warned her to slow down if she wanted to remain in control, so she shook her head no, politely. Her previous intake was having enough effect already.
He pushed a piece of her hair from her eyes. The first contact between them. She thought it should have felt much more electric than it did. She realized he was speaking and snapped to attention, though the air between them was becoming a little blurry. He was talking about his job, nothing glamorous, but he was proud of a recent accomplishment. She wondered if they would fuck before the night was over and if he was a good lay, then wondered if he was wondering the same thing. There were clues, hints from the things he said. People watched them speaking throughout the night and smiled knowingly, fuzzy drunken smiles.
He offered to see her home safely, but they both knew that he was asking, in a glorified fashion, to be naked with her. She loved the idea. A brief triage of the most inebriated of friends, and, everyone taken care of, they took their leave.
She slipped into her coat and he grabbed her hand. She sucked in the night, dark and crisp and felt the street lights glow on her in a hazy mist. He broke from her to light up and offer her a cigarette, which she accepted, and they started their journey headed toward the main street. The combination of the cigarettes and their warm breath left a ghostly trail behind them. It was late, there weren't many cars driving by, and it was quiet apart from the sound of the club behind them. Suddenly seeing an opportunity, she spontaneously pulled him on a different path, leading to the back of several day-based businesses. It was an alley, but not a dodgy one, just uninhabited at the moment. Her mind raced. The smoky-alcohol breath they shared, along with the scent of his cologne as he neared was affecting her, loosening the restrictions on her impulses.
She flicked the cigarette out of his hand, lifted up the front of her skirt and guided his arm down in between her legs. The Dominatrix slipped out before she could filter her.
Put your fingers inside me!
The voice was hers, but she surprised herself at its demanding tone. She had made herself come many times on her own like this but having someone else touch her was infinitely more pleasurable. He slipped one finger inside, exploring her wetness.
Fuck me with your hand... like this
. She moved to stand slightly in front of him, allowing for his arm to reach around her now, and demonstrated the movement she wanted to feel. From the front she was exposed, the fabric of her skirt lifted up her leg while his hand moved beneath her satin underwear. He kissed and bit at her neck, she reached her arm up to grab at him. A horn honking from the street reminded her how they could easily be discovered, which escalated her climax even more.
OhGod, my pussy feels good, yeah like that. Keep going.
Her obliging partner pressed against her from behind, his hardness rubbing on her ass. The Dominatrix wouldn't let her reach around to feel him yet- this moment was all for her. He tried maneuvering to kiss her but she wouldn't allow it. It was her time to be selfish- in retribution for all the women who dropped to their knees to suck off their men and never got anything in return. For all the women who spread their legs for a two-minute thrust that ended before their pleasure even started. She took a last drag from her cigarette and felt her release imminent.
OHSHIT, I'm going to come, don't stop
! She clung to his arm and, almost buckling from the orgasm, let out a thunderous groan of pleasure.
