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?"
