Note from the author: I take consent and comfort extremely seriously, and while I have and will continue to play with these themes in writing, this is a fantasy setting and should be interpreted as such. Just because you write about a beheading in your fantasy novel does not mean you favor more beheading in the real world- and the same goes here. Play safe out there and enjoy.
*****
The night before his first date with Claire, Brent spent a bit of time in the mirror staring at himself. He thought of the world in a rational way- an engineer's mindset, he liked to tell himself, even if he had never actually learned to write computer code in his job as a product manager at a software company. The man staring back at him was 25, just starting to show a bit of age around the eyes but otherwise what most would consider a physical specimen. He had a well-defined jaw, stood a hair over 6ft tall, with bright blue eyes and wavy brown hair he kept cut relatively short. He worked out like clockwork every morning and it showed- he was too slender to be a typical hunky Hollywood star, but had enough mass in his chest, shoulders, biceps, and back that he could fill a t-shirt. When he'd put a bit of effort in, in his first year out of college, he'd slept with a different woman every week for a year. Then he had switched to focusing on his career, rapidly earning a few promotions to the point where he ran a team of 20. He'd been idly swiping away at Tinder in the bathroom at work when Claire had popped up. She was different from the other girls- that was for sure. Forward, aggressive, unfiltered. Tattooed and robust enough to border on stocky- if he didn't know better, he'd pick her in a lineup to be a lesbian. Her first question had been if he had ever been pegged before, and if not if he'd be willing to try it. He'd given her a no/yes reply, on a hunch that it was what she wanted to hear. The plans were set within minutes and within hours he was dressing for drinks, ready to score. He flashed a roguish, slightly asymmetrical smile into the mirror- it was good to be back on the field.
They met at a bar he had picked just a few blocks from his place. Just in case, he thought. He knew how this game was played, and with a woman as aggressive as Claire the odds were good that they'd be making the short walk back.
Eight minutes after their set time, she walked into the bar. Whoa. The pictures hadn't done her justice. She was 5'8", Asian and wearing a form-fitting black dress carved from matte latex. As usual, his eyes wandered down first- the dress stopped at the top third of her thigh, and from it sprouted two powerful legs which made their way down into black leather boots propped up on 4 inch heels. He worked his way back up, admiring the pleasant bulge of her chest. She made it to him before he could get his eyes up to her face.
Brent wasn't typically one for shame, but he felt a little rush to his cheeks when he saw how she looked at him. His attractiveness usually generated friendly faces or at least a certain deference. Instead, her intelligent brown eyes pierced through him as though he was nothing to her.
The rest of the drinks were a blur because he couldn't quite get himself feeling at ease. She was an MIT graduate a few years younger than him. She drank whiskey, neat, ordered by name and brashly insisted that he do the same except "a double because you're bigger than me and need to keep up." She was a software engineer at a startup he'd heard of, she enjoyed horror movies and she had a penchant for asking stunningly direct questions.
What kind of porn do you watch? "Mostly MFF threesomes, some Lesbian, a bit of casting couch" (he didn't mention the cuckold porn or the occasional sissy shit he stumbled upon and furtively came to; it was hard to browse without finding that stuff nowadays).
How many women? "A lot."
Men? "No."
Ever tasted your own cum? "Once- curiosity."
Something you wish you'd done that you haven't? "Hmmm- it would be fun to be part of gang-bang."
Claire straightened herself in her seat and smiled. "Ohhh, it would. I've been part of a few and I have to agree, I think you'd like it."
Who is this? The barrage of questions had both left him off balance and a touch aroused, in an anticipatory sort of way. She's a sure thing.
He opened his mouth to start turning the tables on her, but she raised a hand to stop him and ordered a round of tequila shots- again making his a double. Brent couldn't help but smirk faintly. She wants me drunk, huh? He carefully took his features backed to feigned indifference, determined to keep her working for him.
After the shots, she short-circuited things. "So when are we going up to your place?"
The elevator door had barely closed before her hands were on him- even after four drinks his response was immediate. He moved in with his hands and was only half-shocked to find she wasn't wearing anything underneath her dress. His face unfocused to bliss and when he refocused she was looking at him the same way she had when they first met- as if he was a piece of meat, a tool she was using for the night. Fine by me.
The elevator opened into his apartment and he stumbled through the door. She followed, her balance very much intact, and pushed him onto one of the couches. Brent prided himself on providing at least ten minutes of foreplay, so he was happy to oblige. They made out- she was forceful, even passionate, but always in control. She pulled his pants and shirt off so she could more efficiently grind herself against his leg- all the while keeping that look on her face- concentration, objectification. She's on a fucking mission. After five minutes, she climbed up and smothered him.
Brent had never had his face sat on before- he generally preferred to be on top and in control. The sensations were wild. Her stubble scraped his chin, her smell filled his nostrils, her low moans of satisfaction toyed with his ears. She rocked back and forth in a gentle motion, each beat sending her clit over the ridge of his nose. He moved a hand up to her back, but she grabbed it and forced it above his head. He could have overpowered her if he wanted to, but this was different and refreshing and arousing as fuck. Sometimes, skilled as he was, women left him guessing if they were enjoying themselves. Claire's moans left no doubts whose pleasure this was for.
Suddenly, she squeezed her thighs around him, cutting off his breath He wriggled a bit, tried to get her attention to no avail. She rocked faster now, moaned louder, dripped down his cheek and chin. Brent was about to pass out when she came, a quiver that moved up her body from her hips to her head and then bounced back down to her toes, accompanied by contented mewling sounds. She didn't linger long before hoping off. She'd never even taken off her dress. Brent sat up in shocked disbelief, regaining his breath as she smiled, pressed the down button, slipped her shoes on, gave him a coy wave and walked out the door.
The text came minutes later, just as he was preparing to rub one out in a state of dazed confusion.
"You were good tonight. Tuesday, 7pm, same bar? I think I owe you something- don't cum before then."
It was a big ask- yet Brent was too curious to not comply. The evening rhymed with their first- she asked questions about his favorite sex, the last woman he'd been with, what sort of men intimidated him the most. Big black ones, he admitted sheepishly, having never said that aloud before. She smiled reassuringly.
"You're not the only one, dear, it's okay. Oh, one last thing- did you follow my instructions?"
"Yes ma'am." He smiled, adding a bit of sarcasm so he didn't seem too servile. He was a player in her game, not a pawn.
She beamed. Her smile was addictive- bright and genuine.
"Oh, good. I'm excited for tonight."
They made out furiously in the elevator and made their way to the couch, just like before. This time her dress joined his jeans and t-shirt on the floor.
After a while, she interrupted.
