She didn't know she'd fall in love. She certainly didn't know with what. She knew her emotional nature and her sensual nature were a singular creature... and she knew that she was a slave to that creature. Absolution. How can one be responsible for actions to which she is a slave? She knew it was rationalization, but the alternatives all frightened her. Her deepest fear of all was losing her state of ecstasy. Not that her defense mechanisms were even necessary. When it happened, it happened.
It was all pretty normal stuff for most of her sexually active life. She would fixate on an act. It would become her obsession. They weren't just acts. They were pieces of acts. Compartmentalization of the strangest details. There was no harm in it. Earlier that year, she had sucked her first dick. She was a virgin then. That was pretty normal, she supposed. What wasn't, was the ridge.
Tommy was a stupid jock. She couldn't have forced herself to want to have a conversation with him, but when they were at the same party... well, he was hot. He was exactly the sort of guy that invaded her fantasies. Alpha-male. Strong. He knew it too. Maybe he didn't know it before the party, but he knew it when she started to look a little too drunk. He said he was feeling a little woozy.
"Oh my God. So am I."
He said he was going to walk it off. The air was fresh, and that had always seemed to work for him in the past. He was baiting her, and she knew it. She loved it. The feeling that excited her most was that of being exploited, baited... hunted. She walked with him, and she responded to every prompt. He talked about his girlfriend and how she could never come out for parties like this, as her parents were so restrictive of her movements. He talked about how she was so prudish. Pretty. He told her his girlfriend was pretty; almost as pretty as her. Bait. She could almost feel what was going to happen. Tommy's girlfriend didn't suck his dick. Well, she had, but only twice, and she never seemed into it enough to do it right. He said he felt that would be the thing that would make him feel like a girl was for real... forever. Lies. Beautiful lies.
"I think sucking your dick would be something she would want to do."
"No. She doesn't want to. In fact, just thinking about it now is really... it sort of hurts. It's like there's something wrong with me."
It was like it was all written before it was said. Somewhere. They just had to read the script. She told him there was nothing wrong with him. He smiled, but it spoke the words "Yeah right. Whatever."
"Let me."
"Let you what?"
"Suck your dick."
That's when it all began. She'd never been obsessive before. She dropped to her knees, right on the side of the street. A car hadn't passed during their whole walk. He backed up to lean against the street lamp near him, and she unzipped his jeans. Getting his dick out was trickier than she had imagined. She was afraid she'd do something wrong before she ever got it into her mouth. She wanted in her mouth! It was too hard and long to clear the opening of his pants. She tugged them down a bit until the top of his jeans pulled far enough down to release him. His dick sprang from his pants as it was released and slapped against her nose. It actually hurt a bit, and she could feel its heat upon contact. Some of his fluids has smeared across her lip, up to her right nostril. It was delightfully humiliating. She wanted this so badly now. None of her friends ever expressed such a desire. Yeah, most were willing. Some were proud, but none of the girls had said anything to prepare her for this consuming desire for something that seemed so... so vile to her only a short time before.
She gripped his scrotum and took him into her mouth. Suddenly, she could only focus on one thing. The feeling of the ridge of the head of his dick against the back of her lips. Mmm. It yielded in an almost rubbery manner; a stark contrast to the rigid hardness of his cock. She could feel his pulse against her bottom lip, pulsing from the area below the head. She sucked. She did what she knew she probably should be doing, but she only wanted to feel that ridge. He couldn't have done anything to her that would have excited her more. Every happily ever after, princess fantasy about sex and love... it was all out the window.
The gravel on the street was pressing into her knees. It was causing pain. Suddenly, headlights broke the darkness. She could feel him tense. He told her to stop. She felt mist in the air. It was settling on her cheek, and she remembered seeing the mist in the halo of the street lamp. She held Tommy's balls. And flicked her tongue along the underside of his dick. She pulled her lips back against that ridge, and she could feel it happening. She was going to cum.... just like when she did in her fantasies. They were never like this. There was no four-poster bed with lace draping the top. The onset of orgasm didn't displace the carnal images as would happen in a fantasy. Nope, there it was; his dick, in her mouth, pulling back for a moment. Then, she felt him twitch. He was yelling at her. The car. He didn't want to be seen like this, but she was to have her way. He twitched as the car past. His body convulsed, and she lost it. She lost the ridge as his dick pushed into her throat. She gagged and wanted to bite. Anger welled up inside her, and she thought to see how deeply into his arrogant, stupid prick she could sink her teeth.
His semen filled her mouth. She didn't swallow, but she had no urge to spit either. She wanted to feel her lips settle on that ridge. She was nagged by a sensation that something was wrong with her, and she felt a shock of pain to the side of her head. He'd slapped her! She kept sucking. Now, his orgasm had subsided, and the touch of her lips and tongue was too much. He dropped to his knees, and she kept sucking. He cried out and tried to pull away, but she held his balls like she was willing to rip the whole kit right off his body. He fell all the way to the ground, and was writhing. His pelvis struck her face. She didn't care. She was oblivious to what might turn out to be some bumps and bruises. She only knew he was suffering, and that it added to her pleasure. She only knew that the one thing about him that she did not loathe at the moment was the delightfully rubbery ridge of the head of his dick. Even that meant nothing to her if it wasn't where she could feel it, nursing his cock like an udder... pressing her toungue into the little slit at the end. She wondered how much pain she'd be able to cause if she could shove her tongue into it.
She came. She came in waves of thunderous rapture and thrashed in seizures. When she was able to focus, she saw him. He was running away.He was running out of the light of the lamp, into the darkness, trying to fix his pants. They were almost in place but still impeding his progress, somewhat. She laughed. She laughed like she'd laugh with friends when things became so silly that something didn't even need to be funny to incite an eruption of laughter that could last for minutes. She didn't hate him. She thought, as she already had, that he was a bonehead, but her anger had subsided. She was only angry because he had tried to stop before she was done. She could feel the wetness she had made in her panties. It was uncomfortable, but she felt a sort of pride that she didn't need anyone's touch to feel what she felt.
She returned to the party, and Tommy wasn't there. Everything else seemed pretty normal, except for two of his friends. They were looking at her strangely. One of them, Rick, drove her home. She sucked his dick. He cried out too, but he didn't pull away. She warned him, as she would warn so many boys and men over the next two years.
Quirky obsessions. Sensual compulsions. Masochistic waves, yielding to sadistic impulses. One after another, she found new delights in the strangest carnal acts. So many were benign... even tedious. More than one man found frustration in her need to brush her nipples over his eyebrows, over and over. Some of her games were more malicious. Her joy at the sound of a man crying out, just as the sound of her hand slapping his hanging balls separated the lustfully intense animals from the casually horny. Indeed; it was just this act, and one such casual boy, that brought her to the moment in her history that would lead her to end the history of eleven men and five women.
Style.
She spotted him spiking the punchbowl at a party, with Everclear. He called himself Style. That enraged her, but she could see something she needed in him. Style. His self appointed moniker was part of his denial. He was determined to see a lover in the mirror, no matter how desperate was the countenance that was returning his gaze. Only the pathetic would suffice for this act in her play. She took him to her cabin. The great thing about these little po'dunk towns in the hills, was that they had such things available to the tourists. Cabin rentals. The privacy suited her. Some boys were a bit noisier than others.
"So, Style... I want you to think a minute. Do you meditate?"
"What?"
"Try to roll with me on this, Style. I have my own way of doing things, and I want to lead the way. You want to do things to me, right?"
"Oh, you bet..."
"Then shut up and let me ask you the questions."
"Umm... I'm sorry. What was the question?"
"Never mind, Style. Look at me carefully Style. Don't be shy. Study what you want. I wear these clothes to inspire the imagination. Are you inspired?"
"Yes." His breathing had quickened. "I'm inspired all right."
