*Sigh* I did the thing. I alternate between hating this insufferable tease, to wishing with the power of 80’s children’s movies that I could cum in his mouth over and over again. I don’t hate him for any reason other than my own obsession with him being responsible for my orgasms. It’s infuriating. I don’t chase boys… I’m chasing this boy, and he’s a bad boy. I wants it, like Smeegle. My precious. The real problem is he knows I want it, and it brings him no small amount of pleasure to deny me a solid, lengthy fuck. Tonight I texted my subs to get my corset cinched up before a going out… I was running out of time, I needed to get tight-laced immediately. I text Cold War and ask if he’d like to make $20 to cinch me up so I can get my Dominatrix outfit together and stomp the yard at a haunted house party. I didn’t expect him to answer, but I was hoping the Jew in him would find the motivation to not flake out on me for that $20. It worked. I offered to pick him up, but he said he’d just come over on his own. I assumed cab, whatever- I need to shower quickly. I figure I’ll drop him off on my way to the party, so I’ll stop by an ATM on the way. Simple, right?
I start to do my makeup when he arrives- I frantically start prancing around my home in my cheeky, lacy, neon green panties, and teal bra with sparkly cups. If you’re thinking it’s sexy, it’s not. My hair was wrapped up in a t-shirt while the curls dried. I’m a jiggly, mostly naked, white Aunt Jemima, honey child. It’s a cross between matronly and Venus of Willendorf. But I guess with the internet there’s bound to be somebody out there who thinks that’s sexy… I’m trying to ignore Cold War and stay focused on the task at hand: find the right corset to get cinched into. He’s not making it easy, looking deliciously depraved, pressing up against me from behind, slapping my ass and grabbing it with those big, strong hands. RAWR. Down, girl. Fuck, he’s so distracting. Don’t touch me. I just need you to do the thing and then get the fuck out before I jump on your felon dick and never come back from Never Never Land. I have shit to do tonight! He expertly tight-laced me into a perfect hourglass of Goddess confidence, taking minor breaks to slap my abundance of exposed ass cheeks. I feel like he was impact testing them for durability. True story, they can take a mighty fine beating. But I’m only into it if you can hit me harder than my mother’s disappointment. The corset I’m wearing is a steel boned, black underbust with horizontal snaps over the clasps. Think Janet Jackson Rhythm Nation (Ms. Jackson if you’re nasty!) Ok maybe more like Michael Jackson, but I can’t even talk about him or I start crying… and that’s only fun during sex with strangers. Wanna see what happens when you tell me to call you Daddy? Bam.
The second I’m in I stand up and run my hands up and down the steel boning and trace my fingertips along the beautifully defined waist I don’t own otherwise. I feel like a fucking badass. I can’t breathe worth a shit, but who needs to breathe when you’re beautiful am I right? I have to take short, shallow breaths. I can understand now why women throughout the centuries of wearing these god damn things fainted at everything. Whatever, my tits are pushed up to both of my chins and my posture is perfect. Look at my dirty pillows. I feel invincible. I can resist him. I can be strong. Crown the Queen, your face is my throne. I thank him and turn to go get the rest of my clothes on so I can take him home; he stops me, turns me towards the back of my couch, and pushes me over it slightly. I start to tell him this isn’t part of the plan, I just needed the favor and now we gotta go so I can be on time. I don’t know how many of those words fell out of my mouth before his tongue was on dancing on my perfect little asshole. My knees buckle. I can’t breathe. I love how he moans and enjoys it so thoroughly. I can’t grab his hair to bring him in more… it’s too short, and I’m working with two handicaps: tiny T-Rex arms, and a tight-laced corset. Oh fuck, his giant arms resting on my hips while he buries his face deeper. I cannot cum from this stimulation, but I can get insanely sexually aggressive. I’m gone take that dick, boy. NO I’M NOT WE HAVE TO GO. I have shit to do. My inner dialogue arguing with myself about potentially getting orgasms from this big stupid man, or not being the flakiest flake that ever flaked two nights in a row, is pretty much just a wall of deafening WHY NOT!? with quiet whispers of reason being drowned out. “Why were you late again? Were you getting some dick?” Yeah, you know what the answer is. Don’t judge me!
He finished by running his tongue over and into my lady business very quickly, then stood up and told me I’m beautiful. You god damn tease. Insufferable. Now I’m all twitterpated and distracted. He’s quite pleased with himself and the reaction he caused. I’m sure knocking me off my game and watching me turn into flustered mess is enjoyable… ya cunt. Why. Why can’t I quit you. You’re no good for me. I’m usually the bad influence. I am unsettled. Back into my bedroom I put my makeup on- duo chrome eyeshadow with thick, black, cat eyeliner. As I’m trying, delicately, to draw my eyeliner so that they match (usually one side is perfect and the other indicates I may have palsy,) he decides now is the perfect time to make me snort-laugh. This is par for the course, he loves to make me laugh right after he cums in my mouth because I hate semen more than most things… and the thought of it coming out of my nose is the stuff of nightmares. My eyeliner immediately smudges. Cock sucker motherfucker cunt sonofabitch. I fixed it good enough. He’s proud of himself. As I start working on the next one he begins to speak flawless, beautiful Russian, and I feel a very distinct tingle in my clitoris. I can’t even. I think I actually just dropped my eyeliner and yelled at him. He giggles like a fucking school girl. Now I’m flooded with memories of that time he spoke it while I was sucking his perfect cock. I can recognize “good girl” in Russian pretty well now, just from replaying that over and over and over while I maybe touched myself. I quit smoking and had to pick up a new habit to get me through 5pm traffic. He notices the power tower I have at the foot of my bed and decides to use it. I’m using every ounce of strength I have to not stare at him and salivate, but it didn’t work. I am Jack’s throbbing erection. This gigantic pain in my ass knows I’m so enamored with his enormous fully tattooed arms, that every time I touch them he flexes. Swoon. I recall clinging on to his bicep for dear life when we saw Deadpool together.
I get my face on, I’m feeling fierce and mighty. I’m trying to get dressed fully. He bends me over my bed and moves my feet apart. God damn it. He rips my panties down for the second time, pushes me open, and buries his tongue in my ass again… then lower, until he’s sucking my clit ring. Well, I have officially lost the war. There’s no way I can stop him from doing whatever he wants tonight. That mouth. That glorious mouth. I will cum in that mouth any time, any day. I need him to move away from Alaska and never contact me again. I think he made me cum twice before stopping. I want to suck his tongue. Wait… my face was buried in my bedding while I moaned his name and white knuckle grabbed at pillows. How fucked up is it? He laughs. GOD DAMN IT. He mocks my angry tantrum sounds. I feel like he wants to see how hard I can punch a face. Kidding, I save the abuse for when I’m on drugs with my friends. Like that one time I went all WWE on my lovely girlfriend while cackling I was going to make her piss blood. We destroyed a hotel room and built a fort with busted mattress and box springs. Best LSD party ever. Broken squirt guns everywhere and glow sticks in the bathtub. Memories…. back to this abominable wretch with the taste of my delicious pussy in his mouth. (By the way, he actually refuses to kiss me directly after eating my box- because I like my flavor and he doesn’t want to share. Also, because he’s a monster and just doesn’t want to see me happy.) I need to fix my makeup AGAIN. This time I put even less effort into it. IT’S GOOD ENOUGH. Fuck it. Who hasn’t seen me looking like a filthy pirate hooker strolling the street early Sunday morning? Whatever, I’m going to fuck him tonight. His name in my phone, truth be told, is Moby Dickhead. Because he’s my great white whale I will likely die chasing.
Fast forward several hours. He has not given me the D. He is absolutely refusing, out of pure obstinance. I straddle him on my bed, in full Dominatrix wear, and make-out with him for as long as he’ll let me. Fuck. Me. Sideways. I lay back and lift myself back up to him, kiss him, and repeat. He starts rubbing my wet, wet lady parts right on my piercing and I lose myself for a bit. Pushing me back farther, he positions his mouth on my lovely cunt. He inserts a finger inside me and rubs my g-spot until my thighs start closing around his head. That mouth. Those big arms. Strong hands. He pushes them apart so he can continue eating me so divinely. I recover and regain my composure on top of him, face to face. Every time I bite him just right or suck his neck, he gasps out little moans and growls. I can’t love this enough. I want to make him make all the sounds. Nothing turns me on more than the reflexive primal noises my partner makes as I work on them. I want to bring him to climax. I want to fuck him until he can’t walk and he’s scared to come back to my house. He’s responding to my touch, my bite, my kiss, my tongue. He wants it. He even tells me he wants it. Wait, he wants it but he’s refusing me? This is where it gets a little fucky. This motherfucker tells me tonight is all about me, he just wanted to orally serve me to the best of his ability. Well… that’s all great and junk, but I’d like to be pounded into oblivion now. Please and thank you. He tells me no, because I always get what I want and he delights in denying me. This is why I prefer subs. Lord have mercy I’m going to actually rape him. True story, it’s incredibly hard to tackle a 6’3″ muscle monster when you’re 5’1″ me, in heeled boots, and a breath restricting corset. He just picked me up and threw me on my back on the bed, then laughed at me struggling to get up. I’m a turtle. STOP FINDING AMUSEMENT IN MY OBVIOUS INABILITY TO TAKE CONTROL OF THE SITUATION. I call this feeling impotent rage. There’s nothing intimidating about me, I pose no threat. The madder I get, the funnier it is. FUCK.
He graces me with his mouth a few more times in the 4 hours he was in my house. He counted my orgasms, then cut me off at 6. In our epically satisfying make-out session I enjoyed recounting some of the finer moments in my hookup history that he’s missed out on. Like the Air Force pilot I tagged a while back- how he was complaining in the bar about how most women on Tinder are single moms… so I made a face. He asks if I have a kid, I tell him yes, technically, but she’s dead. He immediately regrets opening his mouth. Then I tell him I’m kidding. She’s not dead… but she is severely handicapped, so I’m dead inside. We laughed at the dark jokes, toasted our drinks, and the rest is history. I tell him about the tranny I loved all night and how awkwardly sad I was about initiating our fuckfest, and then crying afterward because I was crashing after the avalanche of orgasms. He laughed at me, heartily. I tell him about the even bigger muscly meat head I encountered that just desperately wants me to fuck him in the ass. “I know I’m big, but I just want to be your bitch. Is that too much to ask?” No, no it’s not, Broseph- let’s talk about those gains. But there were intermittent moments of genuine intimacy. The way he would hold me close, and touch my face, pet my hair, nibble on my neck and collar-bone, the delicate way he sweetly kissed me. He can be so gentle. Then there’s the moments he’s sucking on my nipple rings and I can feel him hard beneath me- all I can think about is tearing his clothes off and screaming his name for hours. I was getting him going pretty good when he pumped the brakes again and chuckled that I am relentless. Uh… yeah? I ALWAYS GET WHAT I WANT. Except this time. Or any time with him. God damn tease. My makeup is all fucked up, he needs to get home, I have a party to stumble into late. He doesn’t want to wait for me to go to an ATM- asks me what I’m doing tomorrow. I say his face. That’s perfect, I can pay him then. I agree to his terms. I made him feel like a whore… your money’s on the dresser, Chocolate.
What can I say… I can resist everything but temptation.
Completely unrelated side note: wiggling my fatass out of that corset tonight felt like how busting a can of biscuits looks. You’re welcome for that imagery.