This story depicts exhibitionism, manipulation, humiliation, rough sex, reluctance, degradation, dubious consent, gaslighting, and DARVO. It is a work of pornographic fantasy and isn't written with the intention to promote or condone such acts.
It was 9:20am, and Elisabeth was sitting with her phone, a coffee, and a pain au chocolat on some of the verdant courtyard's brutalist stonework. It really was overgrown -- intentionally so. Large palms, and small, low-hanging trees, a pleasant humidity and fresh air amid the concrete blocks. This was the campus of her alma mater of roughly a decade prior. Her hometown -- where she still lived and worked -- was just 30 miles down the road. She had never felt at home in either place, having considered herself a social abomination in her youth, and with plenty of bad luck to boot. This spot had been a haven, a place to come for breakfast and lunch during the quieter moments of the day.
She had dressed in skintight black jeans and an oversized, crisp white men's silk shirt styled in a French Tuck. Something she felt was vaguely defiant in its professionalism. She had a preference for striking differentiation in her fashion sense. It suited her mop of dark ginger hair, too. Her messy curls and honey complexion she had inherited from her father, her hair colour and smattering of freckles from her mother, the latter of whom had also imparted a softness of tone to her figure that, though slender, rarely yielded definition save for a cinch at her waist that allowed her to lay claim to the barest hourglass-ness.
She had unbuttoned her shirt down to the last, arranging the plackets to frame her breasts; as soft as the rest of her, small enough to hide in a billowing shirt like this, but pronounced and shapely when undressed. There was enough cover from the plants, and few enough people on campus at this hour, to get away with a naughty selfie. The greenery and daylight made it irresistible. She chose a few angles, including her own sultry smile, and buttoned up to set about editing. She stirred a little at the dappled morning light illuminating her chest, bounced to produce a gorgeous uplight on her face. She looked good.
Caleb had better appreciate this
.
Elisabeth loved showing off in the open air -- PDA, sex, playful nudity -- it was freeing, yes, and brought about the dirty thrill of risked embarrassment every time. Her kink had been seeded on this very campus, though if it hadn't been quite such a painful couple of years, it might not have ended up so strong. Years later, maturing and processing her feelings, she came to reclaim that feeling of risk and exposure for her own excitement, titillating herself when clear opportunities were presented, and reminding herself that she was beautiful, sexy, when her nature pulled away from that conclusion.
She and Caleb had been messaging for a week. Caleb was nice. Cheerful, preppy in his dress sense, but respectful, and emotionally available. She'd scouted the apps ahead of schedule for a decent lay the week of her work trip. Truly, she'd been looking for anyone, of any gender, who'd looked half decent and hadn't been completely horrible. Caleb had been so warm from the off that Elisabeth had almost refrained from discussing sex at all, in case there might have been something more to foster there. But he'd also proven himself deliciously filthy; when he sent cock pics and cumshots, he kept the rest of his lithe body in frame, posed and presented for her, and with plenty of pleasurable moaning and dirty talk audible in every video. And she responded in kind, of course, his habits titillating her past caution and letting her exhibitionism come to the fore. Caleb had seen her cum face as much as he'd seen her body and holes, and it overjoyed her to listen to him gush with excitement at everything she sent.
"Liz?"
Fuck. That was Dominic. Elisabeth made a quick spot check in case she'd missed a button, or smudged her makeup, or
anything
that he could latch on to and start a wheedling commentary. Dominic was exhausting -- an alumnus in his own hometown, he and Elisabeth had gotten to know each other in dorms and coed Field Hockey, a situation that had culminated in a lot of social distress and upheaval for Elisabeth. At 29, she'd shown up to the Content Writer job she'd barely been in for a month and found, to her deep disappointment, that he'd landed back in her life at the very next desk to hers. Three months sharing desk space with Dominic illuminated one fact: he hadn't changed a jot since they'd dormed. Boorish, reckless, rude, and with an apparent need to space out his day by mocking and undermining Elisabeth at every juncture. She'd quickly learned to vacillate between guarded and hostile with him, but it only drew more shit-eating grins from the most pig-headed fucker there was.
When they'd been asked to travel to Career Day at their old school together, she hadn't dared look at his face. She knew he'd be relishing the innuendo of an overnight trip, and sure enough, he'd immediately begun cracking wise about "separate beds" and "what happens on Career Day", et cetera. She knew she had the choice of turning the trip down, but something about giving him the satisfaction of altering her own trajectory repulsed her as much as he did.
"Liz? Liiiiz--"
"Elisabeth." She didn't turn around, putting her phone out of sight, and replying in an irate singsong. "You know my name, it's got an S, not a Z, and more syllables than you're accustomed to."
This was part of the problem, she knew -- rising to it. That, and her lifelong habit of getting more verbal when frustrated, nervous, or plain scared.
"Sorry, Elisabeth." He deftly over-pronounced her name, just enough to annoy her further without truly incriminating himself. It worked; she sighed, resisted the bait, and turned to face him as he wandered through the plants.
Dominic had kept his hair shorn in their younger days, but it was evident that this was a pragmatic choice at the onset of baldness now. He was gargantuan: Elisabeth stood at 5'6" and he was a whole 9 inches taller than her, his shoulders wide, his body a stocky monolith of undefined musculature, his outline that of a wrestler, jawline delineated by a sharply cropped half-beard. It was impressive that he'd managed a fitted dress shirt for the day, tucked into soft grey chinos and finished with a leather belt, an look that said "I am running a stall at an on-campus Career Day".
"You look very smart" she offered, gathering her things and slipping the pain au chocolat into her bag to avoid the trap of eating food in front of him.
"Thanks, you look..." she pointed her eyes skyward and waited for whatever pointless barb he was working on. "Avant-garde."
"Do you actually know what that means?"
"I think it's like... the type of person who walks around with uneaten pastries in their bag because it seems moody and French not to actually eat breakfast."
"Moody and French. Alright. That is actually kind of what I was going for, Dominic, that's fine."
He didn't seem to be laying it on too thick this morning. Small mercies. She glanced at her phone, and couldn't help but smirk a little at the slew of emojis and filthy speculations that Caleb had sent in response to her tit pic. She let Dominic stand there while she composed her response.
E: Glad you like. I was thinking I'd ditch my dipshit coworker tonight and finally slide your cock into my throat instead. You free?
"Who're you fucking?"
"Shut the fuck up."
C: Fuck. Fuck
C: I have a friend date tonight but you can come hang until they leave?
"Seriously, what's that smirk about? Are you blowing one of the local Dads?"
"Shh". She couldn't argue and type.
E: Sounds perfect, I literally can't be around this guy a second longer than I'm obligated.
C: OK great. We'll make you forget all about that loser.
"Does he know you dress like a Mime? Let me talk to him."
She pulled her earbuds from her pockets and slipped them into her ears, making sorry-I-can't-hear-you gestures as she walked past him to the doorway.
Elisabeth couldn't focus for the entire day. A meeting with Caleb was on the menu now, and they texted throughout. She tried her best to ignore Dominic's inane patter, his remarks about her clothes and hair. Worse still, he wouldn't let go of his quite correct assumption that she had a hookup; whenever they weren't talking to students, he'd be craning his neck to get a look at her screen, demanding to know details, or dropping discouraging remarks about how she'd presented herself this day.
Towards the middle of the afternoon, she escaped to the restroom to take another selfie for Caleb. Bathroom selfies were a mainstay of Elisabeth's exposure fetish, and usually she'd be more than comfortable partially undressing out in front of the mirrors, or at the very least, she'd leave the cubicle unlocked, tempting the possibility that she might be discovered -- and that the discoverer might like what they saw. She hadn't been able to enjoy the habit at her job yet, specifically because of Dominic. She slid the bolt across carefully and leaned against the door, unbuttoning.
She took her pictures, shrugging off the large shirt so that it gathered around her breasts and shoulders like a white rose. Seeing herself exposed in the bathroom of her old college aroused her more, and she felt compelled to take more pictures, capturing the renewed hardness of her nipples and the inviting pink blush spreading beneath her freckles. It seemed inevitable to unbutton the shirt all the way, and unzip her jeans a little too, revealing her belly button, her soft tummy skin, and the dark red of her pubic hair, all but guaranteed to make him as hard as it made her wet. A few more clicks, and the shirt had to come off altogether, and it seemed to Elisabeth that denying him the curve of her hips would be a wasted opportunity; the jeans came down to her knees, and her panties with them, and in a matter of short minutes, she was standing naked, her heart thumping and her pussy turning slick as she posed herself like a trashy bathroom slut with the sounds of students bustling past, coming in and out of the adjoining cubicles.
A sneaky selfie had quickly become a photoshoot, making sure that no curve or angle went undocumented. She was looking far too good from below, too -- the angle accentuated her contours to no end, her pussy dominating the shot with her breasts and sultry stare looming down from above. She gave into the temptation to pull herself open with her free hand, giving him a closeup of her pink wetness. Her middle fingertip rolled and slid over her clit, mesmerising her with her own image. She didn't think twice about going further.
