Demons of the Mind
Five hundred dollars wasn't a small sum to me and I felt he should be doing this for free. What man wouldn't want no-strings sex? A night free of any repercussions? But I suppose I wasn't paying him for sex. I was paying him to cross boundaries and to stay quiet after.
Could I trust him? Well, therein lay the problem. I probably couldn't. But if he had been someone I trusted, then the whole purpose of the evening would be wasted.
I handed the money over trying to disguise the shake in my hands.
He pushed the cash into his pocket without looking at it.
"Aren't you going to check it?"
He gave a sickly smile that unnerved and excited me all at once.
"If you've cheated me... it'll be a mistake, don't you think?"
I nodded softly. If I had short-changed him and he became angry, then I would be in trouble. More trouble than I'd volunteered myself for. A shaved head, gym-toned muscles, and a body covered in tattoos marked him out as someone I really shouldn't cross. He was everything my mother had told me to stay clear of.
He looked me over with hungry eyes one more time. From that point, he became what I wanted. Rough and uncaring.
"Now get in the truck bitch and let's get this done."
So, how had a meek, sweet-looking girl gotten herself into this position? Well, I was twenty-six with a history of conventional sex partners. Two long-term lovers who people had assumed I'd marry, or at least hook up with permanently. And four one-night stands with equally nice boys who cared about being gentle with me.
To an onlooking world, I was the girl next door. The sweet thing who came from a good home wore dresses and never swore. I even had a sweet name. Abigail. Abby.
As a child, I'd made lemonade and acted the perfect princess. All grown up, I worked in a bookshop and ran a book club for middle-aged ladies. I was sweetness and light. I even attended church most Sundays.
I had another man in my life after the past ones had fallen by the wayside after failing to live up to the high standards I expected. A gentle soul who worshipped the ground I walked on. It was pleasant and oh-so vanilla. Traditional dating, monogamous, no kinks, and a mutual exchange of pleasure in the bedroom. Just like thousands of other lucky couples across the country.
To be blunt, I adored fucking him. I venerated sucking his cock. I delighted at his touch of my privates and the way he could lift me to that blissful moment. And I loved him as a person. To employ an overused phrase, was my soulmate.
However, what the world saw was not everything there was to me. I had a demon that lurked in the back of my mind. Even after the love of my life had made me cum and I lay there smiling and joyful, I still had a deep dark want lurking in the back of my mind that I couldn't escape
I wanted to be one of those girls I saw in the more extreme porn I sought out in private. Yes, I watched porn with my boyfriend. But it was always tame stuff. Couples, college teens, and the occasional lesbian videos. The kind of thing everyone watched. It was when I was alone I indulged the devil in me. It was then I watched much darker things. Bondage, gang bangs, girls tied to frames and fucked to exhaustion by big bulls of men.
This was a hunger I felt shame over in more lucid moments. A secret I would never share with anyone. It was a curiosity that'd begun when I was younger and single. A search for ever more arousing clips as I sought something to help me cum when masturbating.
I know most girls will say they have no problem alone and that the difficulties come with a partner. For me, it was the opposite. With a boyfriend, cuming was easy. The emotional and physical connection lifted me to my pinnacle without any difficulty. Alone I could pump my pussy for hours as I flicked through video after video looking for that one magical thing that would tip me into orgasm. I wanted to feel myself cum so badly. To scream my pleasure. But always, no matter how much I reached that peak I felt as though something was missing. That I hadn't quite attained true sexual release. Always it needed to be a little more extreme and humiliating to help me achieve relief.
None of it represented me. I was the prim and proper girl from the nice side of town every boy was happy to introduce to their mom. And I was at a crossroads in my life. On the cusp of becoming what every girl aimed to be. And in a way, that frightened me. The sudden thought that my fantasies would remain forever that and I'd never truly know what it was like to experience them. I'd never know that one aspect that was missing from my real life. Fear.
My future would be that of a loving wife, mother to a couple of children, and making dinner for the family. My husband would be an ordinary man who dressed well, worked hard, and cleaned the yard at weekends. Most certainly not the muscular, big dicked, ruffian of my fantasies who didn't care about asking if I was pleased, or if he could put a finger in my arse. Nor did I want him to be. But a tiny part of me, that demon who wanted me to blaspheme Christ and reject decency, demanded I experience the fear of a bad man just once.
And that's where I stood. I was faced with one last chance to know the truth of my evil or forever bottle it away as a nagging regret. Either I experienced what I dreamed about as I masturbated or I buried the idea forever and accepted I'd never know what it was like to be taken to the extreme.
With time running out, I'd decided to embrace it, to put myself at risk to experience the adrenaline rush I hankered after. Just the once. Then I'd return to normality and live a good life.
Thus I'd gathered together some money and gone out to the roughest place I knew. A bar at the edge of the next town that attracted the roughest of the rough.
I had eyes on me as soon as I walked through the door. I was so out of place. I couldn't look anything other than what I was. A sweet girl. Fairly petite with slender legs, nice tits, and a youthful face framed by immaculate thick dark hair. Everyone here was a biker or truck driver. Big muscular men covered in tattoos who were probably rarely sober or constantly high on some substance I'd rather not know about.
Even the few girls that were around looked like they would glass me in an instant. They dressed in tee shirts and denim. I was in a dress. Where they wore boots, I had small heels to accentuate the muscles in my calves and hold my posture.
I was terrified and horny all at once.
Christ, they were a rough bunch. Hardened drinkers. The smell of alcohol was embedded in the wood. Years of spilled beers soaked into the floorboards and table tops.
The smoking bans hadn't reached here. Cigarettes sent a waft of smoke that hung like a microclimate along the ceiling. There was even a hint of herbal. The telltale smell of cannabis smoked openly by people who cared nothing for the law.
This was redneck country. Crass and unsophisticated laborers who worked hard and played harder. The kind of place my parents had always told me to stay away from. This was a bar that would probably end the night in a brawl more often than not. No one like me would come here and expect to leave unmolested.
And that was the point. I wanted to be molested. Somewhere in here would be what I was looking for. That elusive image I had in my head of a man who would fuck me without asking and never care to know my name.
I saw him almost straight away. A big guy who worked out. Shaved bald, with tattoos everywhere. He had muscles I didn't know a man could possess. And such a tight butt. The kind of butt that could go up and down on a girl for hours. I could only imagine how big his cock would be.
I think I went a little bit weak when I saw his eyes flick over me. I smiled automatically before realizing how pathetic I looked.
Then I saw the girl. She let her hand drift over his chest as she walked past him with her eyes firmly fixed on me. It was a familiarity and a statement of ownership that left me disappointed. He was hers. That much was evident.
"Pretty." She whispered passionately as she passed me. Her fingers brushed against mine.
I was confused by that. His girlfriend but equally as interested in me. She wasn't what I wanted. I didn't have latent lesbian tendencies. No girl could abuse me how I needed. But she did hold my attention for a moment.
The girl was pretty in a rough sort of way. Like him, she was all tattoos. Long dark hair and equally dark eyes contrasted with bright lip gloss that made her lips look even bigger. She was slender. Long legs and big tits that moved with a life of their own under her tight top. I could see nipple piercings pushing through the thin material. How old? Difficult to say, but younger than him. Probably younger than me.
I watched her as she walked across to the bar. Self-assured and at ease with her life. She picked up a bottle and turned to lean against the bar with a foot up on the bar rail.
"You lost?"
I was brought back to the man at the sound of his voice. He was standing in front of me holding a pool cue out to me. My stomach turned over with a nervous fear.
"No. I'm in the right place for what I want."
I was quaking.
