Simon Says: This is the second chapter, all from only one perspective this time. There may end up being one more. Per usual, if your thing isn't the emotional/ thought side of things then this may be more frustrating and not a good match.
I put this in Mature again as I don't see it as BDSM really. Just D/s potentially. I would love to hear veteran opinions of that as that is just my perspective.
CASTING CALL: I am looking for someone to help do a **text with audio** version of The Good Girl Ch. 01 with a male and a female voice reading the two parts. I think I can do the male side just fine but if there is a young sounding woman (the character is 20 years old) who is at least 18, is expressive and would like to record those parts then please contact me. We might be able to work it out. I am thinking we could record separately and then string them together. Let me know if interested.
I love hearing from people so do not be shy. Again, these characters may represent real people but the situation is largely fictional. Mostly. :)
Happy reading!
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I quietly closed the door behind me, still feeling shock. Shock of what I had just done in a professor's office. Shock that I had let him do what he did to me. Shock that I actually I felt powerless on both of those fronts! Holy shit. Now that I think about it, I felt powerless from the moment he said something to me.
Oh my God. What happened in there? I had NEVER done that before.
I felt exhausted and satisfied and pissed off all at once. How could he take advantage of me? Damned professor freak.
As I walked back out of the faculty area I decided I would stay clear of him. Only class. And email. And that's it. I wouldn't let him work his voodoo magic on me a second time. My body shivered several times as I made my way through the building to get outside. My lower lips still felt on fire. They wanted more. I wanted more. But I couldn't.
I texted Lauren and told her I couldn't meet her for lunch. She had developed a very effective keen sixth sense about me . . . almost some sort of metal detector for my feelings . . . and I couldn't let her know what had happened, mostly because I really don't even know what happened. I seriously had no reference point for this experience. At all.
I immediately hopped the bus and went back to my apartment. Fortunately Lane's class was the final one for the day. Lane. Bastard. I felt totally out of control and I hated that. Immensely.
I needed a shower and a nap. And probably some shock therapy and four months in an asylum.
I shivered again, sitting on the seat in the bus. It was a 20 minute trip to my stop so I closed my eyes and relaxed.
Immediately my mind went to Lane. Lane and his intense eyes. Lane, his intense eyes and those soft lips. Lane, the lips, the eyes and the deep grumbling voice telling me things to do. Things that I wanted to do. Stop it Rach!!
Oh my God. Am I some sort of freak now?? Some sort of freak who needs some older dude telling her what to do? Should I go out and buy the fucking latex outfit and some handcuffs?
It's not like I have a history of getting off on guys, dicks or otherwise, telling me what to do. If anything, I am notorious for being a bossy pants. Am I entering a new frontier here or is this just some sort of phase? Or maybe its the whole professor/ student paradigm? Or maybe Professor Freaky Deaky caught me at a very vulnerable moment. That may not happen again. Ever.
Makes sense to me.
Of course there is the small fact that I just experienced the most earth shattering intense orgasm of my existence and it was all because of a guy, his fucking sexy voice and a few well coordinate very talented fingers. That kind of screws the rest up. Because as much as I resented him for it I still feel trapped by him. I picture him and I freeze. Eyes, lips, fingers. The man fucked the hell out of me and he never even unzipped his fly.
Did I just let out a moan? My eyes shot open to find the guy across the aisle eye grinning at me. Great, he probably thought I was thinking about him.
Wait. That's a thought. Well not that guy as he is not my type. I don't go for square headed jocks. Apparently I go for much older control freak professors.
ANYWAY, the thought is this: find a guy and get him to do that stuff to me and see if it can be replicated. It will be an experiment! A plan. A damned good one. Except I have no idea where to find some dominant feller. I don't think there is a Craig's List entry for that. Well actually there probably is but I am not stupid enough to use that venue for anything besides a used chair.
I will figure something out.
The plan: find a dominant kind of guy, set up a thing where we see if this is my thing or if it is only Lane (which I doubt) or if it was a passing thing for Tuesday. Maybe tomorrow my thing will be something normal, like eating a snack and reading on a park bench.
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"What's going on, Rach?" Lauren looked at me with the skeptical eye thing.
What the hell???!! I hadn't even said anything yet. Dammit.
Lauren had just let herself into my apartment, her long brown hair braided today. I think she had soccer practice earlier.
"Everything is cool." I wore my fake all-is-fine-so-don't-ask-about-anything-else smile. She just studied me waiting for me to continue. Apparently she knew that smile all too well. Inner sigh.
Everyone needs a best friend like Lauren. She approaches everything calmly and with a level head. I needed that. Except right now as what I was planning was anything but level-headed. If she cared about me at all she would talk me out of it. And probably spank me senseless for what happened earlier today.
"Raaaaaaaaach . .?" Sometimes I fell like she was my second mom.
"I don't wanna talk about it."
"Seriously? We talk about everything!"
Ok, option check! Option 1: Tell her everything. Consequence? She would scold me for earlier and get me to drop my freaky plan. Option 2: Tell her some of it. Consequence? The girl is like Sherlock Holmes. She would figure it all out filling in the missing pieces. Option 3: Tell her nothing. Consequence? She would bother the living hell out of me until I told her.
She watched my internal debate with an amused smirk, "option check time?"