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Hello all you naughty boys and girls of Literotica. This is an entry for the Survivor Contest. Please look for the accompanying audio interpretation of this story on my profile (it will have the same or similar name). Please do leave feedback and vote on both the text and audio versions. Enjoy!
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I'm the kind of woman who has never been afraid to take what she wanted. For the past while, I just hadn't wanted anything. Or rather, I hadn't wanted anyone. Relationships are often complicated and the past six months of my life had been proof. Letting Ricardo go had been very hard. He and I had lived together for a year and shared a great love of art and sex. Ricardo was an artist, a starving artist when I'd met him. I took him in and cleaned him up. He was younger than I and just as pretty. Soft hands and a slight build with a heart just as tender as his exterior. He was only twenty-one, which satisfied my cougar tendencies. He didn't even look legal. Blonde with piercing blue eyes and a face that looked beautiful, even stained with paint. He learned to work in the nude in the little studio I built for him, giving me unhampered access to his baby soft skin and eight inches of ever-ready uncut cock. I was very disappointed that he fucked one of the cocktail waitresses working his very first show. I don't share, unless it's my idea. So, with a final fuck and a kiss goodbye, I sent Ricardo on his way. He was better for having known me and truthfully, he wouldn't have held my interest for much longer.
I allowed myself a couple of weeks of wallowing in self pity. I enjoyed the anguish and longing. Then, I met Ondria. She was wild and free in every sense. A beautiful raven-haired woman with black eyes to match. She was smart and elegant and self confident. I was drawn by the fact that she didn't need me in any way, at least not according to the outside observer of our relationship. She had her own money, her own home and a doctorate in something that sounded dreadfully boring. We shared so many of the same interests and affections. But that was the Ondria she showed the world. She soon showed me a different Ondria, one who wanted to kneel at my feet and call me mistress, one who needed to be abused and humiliated to feel anything sexually. After only three months, I began to really feel the disdain that she liked for me to project towards her. The more distant I grew, the more obsessed Ondria became. I soon began to loathe our evenings together and then avoided her completely. She did everything she could to get me back, but threat of a restraining order finally had her seeing reason. She and I traveled some of the same social circles and I saw her occasionally, but she ceased to even look in my direction. Part of me missed the Ondria with whom I had fallen into total infatuation; the Ondria that did not really exist.
After Ondria, I stopped wanting. I carried on with my professional life and devoted my personal life to carefully planned loneliness. I shunned advances and ignored my own attractions. I read a lot. When that failed me, I shopped. But mostly, I worked. And that was the only thing that caused me to be at a bar, of all places. A group of Japanese investors wanted to spend time at a typical hot nightspot. I wanted their money, so I found myself in the role of tour guide. I sipped expensive, yet mediocre mixed drinks, beaming a brilliant smile and laughing at their jokes. One of them flirted with me and I teased back, utterly uninterested. It was business and not pleasure.
Then, he caught my eye. He was rugged and dark and even dangerous. He was unshaven, perhaps three days worth, and the scruff added to his darkness and his danger. The bar seemed too highbrow for him and he looked out of place. At first glance, I tried to tell myself that his misplacement was the only thing that made me notice him. But when I found myself looking again and again, I knew I could only feign disinterest. When I caught his eye, he didn't smile. I could only imagine what he thought I was doing with five middle aged Japanese men in suits. I tried to see myself through his eyes and couldn't help but smile. An entertainment director? A high priced call girl? What thoughts of me were behind those dark smoldering eyes? Were there thoughts of me?
He rose from his table in the corner and walked to the bar. I wished he'd just waited for the waitress to bring him another drink, because his movements caught me off-guard. He didn't just walk; he strode like a wild jungle cat on the prowl. His body rippled with lean muscle and grace. He passed close enough to the table and I smelled his cologne. He was pure animal and I was in heat. I lost several points of conversation as I watched him walk back with his drink. The jeans clung to the firm contours of his ass and thighs. His shirt was tight and tucked in, revealing a trim waist and wide manly shoulders. I took a sip of whatever was in my glass to wet my dry throat.
An hour passed and I'd watched him fend off two women who were intent on sitting at his table. I grew concerned until I saw him glower at a pretty gay boy who offered to buy him a drink. Was he waiting for someone? And then, I saw him head to the back hallway, to the restrooms.
