Hot Bitch

As I am usually quite full of myself, this last week has been new for me. I have been wondering and questioning what happened last Saturday, and what that means for me.

Still, there was no denying that I would meet that woman again. I wanted to know why she was torturing me like she was. I wanted to know what she would say or do next. I just tried to ignore the way I obviously felt for her.

Saturday had come around again, and I had dressed in pants and a conservative shirt, in order to convince her I was only there to get my ID. I tried to also convince myself that was all I wanted, because the truth would be too complicated.

"Like a bitch in heat."

Her voice echoed in my mind as I put on my lip gloss in the mirror of my apartment, just by the front door. I looked at the image I made, and had to smile. I was sexy, and let my long blond hair flow down past my shoulders - half of it pinned up just like it had been last Saturday. Just like I did it every other day. My hair's always been long because I know it looks better that way, and I love to entice.

My face stared back at me in the porcelain way it always had, reminding me of its perfection. I don't know the reason for my luck with beauty, but I was especially happy with it then. It gave me strength to do what I wanted.

It was getting late. That was when I called a cab, and hopped in to head over to the bar to meet up with Butch again. What was her name? A part of me wanted to know, and yet another part pleaded I never find out. I wanted to to be able to think of something other than her.

When the cab pulled up, I stepped out in my heels, and walked right up to the entrance. There was a line, but I was accustomed to slipping in because the security at those places always invited women like me in through the VIP door.

The guy on duty looked me up and down, but seemed a bit puzzled. It was probably due to my more conservative attire, but I smiled at him, and he seemed to enjoy that.

"I just need to meet a friend. Can I slip in?"

"ID?"

Then my shoulders sank. "Shit ... my friend's got my ID."

He shook his head. "Sorry."

"Ughhh!" I groaned, earning a few glares from the line-up of mostly women who were waiting their turn. I leaned back against the wall, and exhaled. Great.

There was nothing I could do. I had to wait right where I was, and I felt like a complete loser, all by myself, dressed like a librarian at a nightclub. It was ridiculous. I actually started to get really angry once half an hour had gone by, but then I heard someone calling for something. I looked up, and Butch was there by the entrance, smirking at me.

"That's her," she said to the security guard, "Thanks."

She walked out of the club and came over to me.

"There you are," she grinned. That stupid grin!

I tried desperately to be kind, even though I was irritated she'd made me wait for so long. I extended out my hand for the ID she'd promised to return to me, but all I got was her handshake.

"Come on, I called a cab. One of these should be for me."

"I ... I'm not going with you," I insisted, standing my ground as we'd turned the corner, and out of sight of the bar's patrons.

"You get in this cab with me? And I'll give you this," she insisted, flipping my ID between her fingers. "No problem."

Just then I remembered what she had done with me the last time we were in that little alley. I tried to keep calm as she was looking at me, but my heart was racing. I didn't want to figure it out. I wanted to simply run with the night.

I hesitantly walked with her, and ducked into the cab to close the car door behind me. "I want my ID now."

As the cab drove off, she handed it over to me, and leaned back in her seat. "Where to?"

She was dropping me off just like that? A part of me was disappointed that she didn't want me more. It disappointed me that she wouldn't try to trick me into staying, or she wouldn't try to touch me. She hadn't tried to touch me even once. I didn't know what to say, so she quickly gave the man what I presumed was her address, and it was.

I sat the whole way in silence - not offering my own address - trying to figure out what was going on with me. Did I want to go to her place? I didn't seem to be fighting it like I thought I would. And then her hand was on my knee, touching it to the other.

She smirked when I looked up at her. "Together. That's how a lady should sit." She was trying not to laugh, and I was irritated again.

"How come you sit like THAT then?"

She laughed in full: "I'm no lady."

I think I surprised her with my answer when I mumbled that maybe I wasn't a lady either.

"Come on up," she said as we had arrived at the destination, pulling two twenties out of her pocket. My twenties - I knew it. She was taunting me.

For some reason, I just couldn't resist following her. No matter how I tried to convince myself, telling myself that I honestly didn't care about forty dollars that I could make back in a few hours at work, it didn't matter at all.

I was standing in her apartment with her before I knew it, cursing my own weakness for following her there.

"Give me my money."

I don't know what came over me, but that's what I said. I had my hands on my hips as I glared at her, but all she did was smile back. "Maybe uh ... Maybe you'll just have to earn it, huh?"

I laughed for a moment, and then I pursed my lips. "That's terrible." A part of me really felt that she was being rude in speaking to me that way, but another more secret part of me was getting off on it. I wanted to earn that money back.

"You want it so bad ...? Well, what're you gonna do? Come here and get it from me?" She was grinning from ear-to-ear. So damn pleased with herself.

Once we got up there, I noticed that her place was relatively neat, but sparse. It seemed bigger than it was, and that seemed to mirror her appearance. Her dark, short hair gave her round face more definition, as did her slightly off-set nose. Her features gave her entire personality more character.

I watched her disappear into her kitchen, and then I got an idea. I would steal back my money! Hurriedly, I turned around, and looked for something somewhat valuable. My eyes settled on a little ivory figurine, and I took it in my hand before I headed for the door.

My breath caught in my throat when I noticed she'd saw what I'd done, and suddenly I felt guilty. She'd been watching from her miniature hallway.

"Put it back."

Her words were so calmly superior that it shook me, but I held onto the little figurine to show her that I still had some fight in me: this would not be like the other night, a week ago. I didn't want to submit.

I kept telling myself that as she approached.

"Put it back or else."

"You'd love that, wouldn't you?" I shot back, but she held onto me before I could even react. She grabbed me by my arms, and pressed my chest up against the wall as I felt something cold close over my wrists. She easily pried the figurine out from my hand, and then I felt her pull me by the back of my shirt - guiding me over to her couch. I stumbled just as we reached it, and fell face-first onto the cushions.

She quickly lifted my legs up, and sat beside me there, giving us each about half of the couch. It was a large couch for the size of her place, and it was comfortable, but I didn't want to be there. I kept telling myself I didn't want to be there, but I felt another way entirely.

As I struggled to get up, she turned on the TV, and put her feet up on the make-shift coffee table propped up on mismatching table legs.

She was watching me, and that was excited me most of all. Her stare was on me, however subtle it may have been.

"You keep struggling like that, and you'll earn your money back in no time." I could hear her grin as she spoke, and her words stilled me. I wouldn't squirm if that was what she wanted. I wasn't here to please HER. Wait - I wasn't here to please anybody! Not even myself.

I was chanting to myself over and over: 'I don't wanna be here. I don't wanna be here. Just get up. Swing your legs over and just get up ... no, not that. Oh god ... Move! I really don't wanna be here ...'

I was struggling with myself at times, but where was my desperation like I'd felt it the night before? Where was my weakness? All I wanted was to fight this feeling in me, and that was so different than what I'd felt in the club. I laid there with my face buried in one of her cushions for a few minutes, until I felt her tugging at my arm.

Before I knew it, I was pulled over her lap, face-down. My hips were lingering over her thighs, and for the first time that night, I was entirely excited again. I wanted her to pull my pants down. I wanted her to feel how wet I was, and that was a shock entirely. What had she done to me? - And so easily.

"You ... still wanna earn that money back?" she whispered that time, obviously speaking down to me, as if she possessed me.

I turned my face to take in a deep breath where she couldn't read my expression. I tried to keep logical, but even with my pants on, I felt exposed. And I liked it. "I ... w ... Uh ..."

She rested her hand on my inner thigh, just keeping it there as if she weren't doing anything at all. Even her breath was transfixing, and I began to wonder what it might feel like for her to touch me. I'd never been touched by a woman before - not one that knew what she was doing like this one did. Messing around is one thing, but I had a feeling this would be much ... much different.

Her hand was so warm that I accidentally moaned, and she laughed at that: "You let me know."

I was struggling, I was in denial, and I was scared for what I was about to step into, but I just couldn't leave and keep this mystery any longer.

It took me ten minutes to get up the courage to be truthful. "Y ... yes."

"I like to spank my girls."

Immediately, I was frightened, but she elaborated.

"And not that I think you'd enjoy it ... but I'd enjoy it."

I took that statement at face value, and tried to remain perfectly still. I tried to stop my body from lubricating what I'd hoped she'd try to do. It was embarrassing, to be so wet in her lap. I took a deep breath in and out. "Wh ... what?" I acted as though I hadn't heard, but we both knew I had.

She ran her right hand over my jeans, and then drifted her fingers up, between my legs. Even clothed, it sent shivers through me that spread my legs instinctively. My body was screaming out to her, but I kept my lips pursed together.

"Well ... what do you think?" she whispered, obviously affected herself. I could tell by the way her hand hesitated every time it massaged over my ass, and when she used both of her hands. She seemed to be hungry for me, and I liked the idea of being that woman's "meal" of sorts.

I laid my hands flat on her couch cushion, and squirmed my hips. The feeling that came over me was impossible to ignore, and it wouldn't subside, so I finally let it take me over. My hips squirmed up, even into her hands, where she would squeeze them and brush her fingers between my legs again. She could certainly be gentle when she wanted to be.

Finally, I croaked out another question: "What do I ... think about what?"

She moaned as she touched me again, feeling even over the material of my jeans just how wet I was. "Let me spank you."

Every reason I had been there, and every concern I had disappeared as I squirmed there in her lap. The only thing in the world that I desired were her hands on me. I wanted to feel what it was like to be spanked by someone who knew it well. Have you ever been so desperate to have someone spank you? I'd never felt that before, but it was certainly powerful.

"Yes," I answered without any hesitation.

Almost as immediately as I answered, she brought her hand down, and spanked me. I gasped at the sensation, but I also found that it was much softer than I was expecting - tame, even. I frowned with both my eyes still tightly shut, and waited for another slap when I heard her voice instead.

"I ... have to take these off," she insisted in that deep whisper she did so well. She was already pulling at my jeans, when I reached under my own hips, and undid my jeans.

What was I thinking? I wanted to know what it would feel like. I wanted her to spank me - really spank me. I wanted to cry out. I wanted it to hurt. I wanted so many things that I couldn't even question them. I squirmed my hips up as she tugged my jeans down my thighs. They finally sat taut around my knees, and then her fingers toyed with my lacy, purple panties. I think she enjoyed the fact that they hardly covered me at all.

She didn't even tease me for wearing them like I thought she would. Instead, she let her hand come down again, but that time it stung. I gasped loudly, and clenched the pillow in my hands. When I relaxed, she spanked me again, and then she kneaded both my cheeks with her hands.

"Nice ass."

I blushed, I'm sure, but I can't remember noticing. It just felt so different from any other rough play I'd done, and the tingles she was sending with each slap were exciting me for more. I wanted it harder. I wanted her to pull down my panties and spank me for letting her do it.

It was at that point that I shook some sense into myself, and tried to be logical. What had I gotten myself into?

Just as she landed another slap, I gasped, and my chest pressed to the cushion. Was I angling my hips up?

"Wait ..." I panted, just as she landed an even firmer hand. I raggedly moaned, but recovered by trying to cough over it. "Wait ... I ... I can't do this."

"You don't have to do anything," she moaned, squeezing my cheeks again, and toying with the lace on my panties.

"What're you doing?" I breathed with concern, looking back at her.

"Just fucking with you," she chuckled, spanking me hard again to hear me cry out.

"Wait! ... Okay," I panted all over again, wanting to cry at the tug in all directions. I wanted her to stop - I wanted her never to stop. "Wait ..." Then I looked at my wrists. "When did you take off the handcuffs?"

"As soon as I had you here," she grinned, gesturing to her lap. "Seems you were a little too distracted to notice ..."

Oh, I wanted her to fuck me then. Right then. She had me where she wanted me, I knew it. I wouldn't even have resisted if she'd pulled down my panties, but instead, she completely shocked me.

She moved out from under me, and chuckled at my messy hair and disheveled clothes.

"A little desperate, I think ... I dunno ..."

I was offended, and let out my disapproval with a gasp. I didn't know what to say.

"Well ... damn ..." She was looking at me, and eyeing the slip of skin that was offered just where my shirt nearly met the lace of my panties. She could tell I was completely shaven, but she simply tucked her hands into her pockets. "I don't do straight girls."

My jaw dropped in disbelief. After all of this?! After confusing the hell out of me she had the audacity to say that?!

I got up fast, and pulled my pants up my thighs to storm past her. I was near to the door when she grabbed my wrist, and pinned me to the wall again. I didn't know what to do, so I just held my breath and looked at her.

"Maybe I'll ... see you another time."

NOT likely, I thought to myself. I was mad at her.

"You know ... when you've sorted things out for yourself."

Ooh, she had some nerve! I was angry with myself too, at just how wet I'd been. And she hadn't even touched me where I wanted it! Or did I want that?

She continued despite the look on my face: "I don't want you confused. I want you to know."

Yup, that was all she said to me! I stormed out of there so fast, and marched down that hall to go and hail a cab.

I tried not to think about her all the way home, and even as I laid on my own couch watching TV, but I couldn't help a smile from forming as I went to change, and found my twenty dollar bills in my back pocket. Damn, she was sneaky.

Did I like her? Well, not in any intimate way, I assured myself. Maybe I liked her because she was a lot like me. Maybe I liked that she wasn't easy, or that she had an attitude quite like myself.

I pouted for days - for weeks - until I finally decided on some fun, and went online to seek lesbians in my area. I found this one cute brunette that reminded me of Butch, and I grinned as I scheduled a meet-up. What was I craving? I didn't know, but planning a date with that woman excited me. I tried not to think what that meant. I wasn't gay or bi or whatever. That was all too complicated for me.

It took me five other dates with women to realize that I was having fun dating them. Maybe that person in particular wasn't meant for me, but I started to catch myself looking at them with admiration (and wanton stares).

One girl, Sam, really caught my interest. In fact, as she was driving me back to my place one night, I invited her in. ME! The girl who had always enjoyed teasing men was interested in a woman! It was a time of self-discovery for me, as I invited her up, and kissed her there. We were standing outside of my apartment, and she grabbed me by the back of my neck, and kissed me.

I pulled her into my place, and kissed her back that night - surprised with the level of intimacy I felt with her after only four dates. And that was fast for me! I usually liked to tease them for a good ten or fifteen dates (hahaha, I'm so terrible!), but I wanted her just like she wanted me.

After that, I started questioning what was going on with me? How could I think I'd been straight this whole time? Or was I gay?

At long last, I came to the conclusion that I liked both men AND women, but I've never liked labels, so I left it at that.

I used to get wet every time Sam would come out of the shower with her long hair dripping down her shoulders, and I would tackle her on the bed, kissing her face and her neck until she reciprocated all of those kisses. I used to press her hands to my breasts and pull her close just to feel her fingers on me. I was crazy for her all the time, right up until she told me: "I can't do this anymore, Mara."

I hated when she used that tone of voice. My first name instead of Babe or Hun. That was really a hard time for me, when she tried denouncing any iota of her gayness, because I had fallen for her and she crushed me.

I guess that's why I understood what Butch had been talking about all that time back. Had she really felt something for me? God, she was awful!

I laughed whenever I would think of how terrible she was to me, and how I had enjoyed it. How do we enjoy such things? It's so hard to know.

It's infectious, it's toxic, but it's beautiful when you feel it.

That much was true one Thursday night at a lounge where I'd met up with friends only to stay late by myself. It had been a rough while on my own, and that cold margarita worked like a charm. I was stewing in my thoughts as I heard a voice from down the bar.

"Still drinking that sissy shit, huh?"

I turned up immediately, my eyes catching those terrible blues from all that time ago. Had it already been a year since I'd seen her? It was Butch, and she hadn't changed a bit.

I tried not to smile, keeping my stare as she walked over and slapped her hand down on the bar, her strong and capable body sending me little shivers. She was a butch if ever there was one, and although I usually stared at femme women walking past, there was something about her that shook me. I needed those hands. That was all I could think as she sat down next to me, not bothering to ask if I wanted her there. She knew.

"Gimme that," she smirked, stealing my drink by its long stem, our fingers brushing accidentally. My breath caught in my throat as I watched her take a big sip of my drink. "Fuck that's weak." She was loving every moment of my stunned silence.