“You’re going to get me in trouble!” She texted back, with flawless typing. Interesting. Picturing her now, she must have left the dance floor and taken some time to send it. I imagine her hips swaying, catching the eye of a man or two on her way to the bathroom. Her text could be playful, it could mean just as little and just as much as every other flirtatious response, or it could mean something different altogether.
However weak the gesture, she was giving me resistance. Could she want it to end? Most likely not, but I would have to be careful from here on out. It’s a dangerous thing, trying to sway the loyalty of a taken woman. A boyfriend of 5 years is no laughing matter. But I don’t like relenting, especially without good reason. “I want to get you in trouble and then I want to keep you there. Tell me, how many guys have you danced with tonight?”
Her response took a little awhile; apparently, she was having fun. But this didn’t concern me; if I were to have her it wouldn’t be on the dance floor. Instead, we play the waiting game until she’s alone, has exhausted all the temptations of the club and is lying on the bed of her lonely flat. “Only a couple. No one who excited me. God, I remember that night like it was yesterday. Do you?” As the text came to me, I sat up and smiled. Good girl.
“I remember everything about you and that night. I remember your athletic, seductive hips. And I remember the hand you placed in my pants. Did you like what you found?” This was the make it or break it point. It had come up sooner than I liked, but I am liar if I say I can control the rampant behaviour of my lust. I need the calming power of her submission. I need to exert myself.
“Yes! ;) you are quite the man.” Truth be told, I knew the answer before she gave it. It could have been my imagination, but when she ventured to slip her hand into my boxers, looking me eye to eye, I could of sworn I saw her jaw drop the slightest amount and a sudden bit of saliva moisten her lips. I almost didn’t catch it for the ecstasy her cold hand gave me. With her friends trying to keep a close watch, and the static in the air provided by the rhythmic grinding bodies around us, the sensitivity of her touch was enough to make my eyes roll into the back of my head. But as pleasurable as her touch was to me, it couldn’t compare to the short exhale of breath she gave right afterwards. It was reactionary, shallow, quick and it described to me just how wet she was. It was shortly after that moment that I slipped her my business card; With her back side against me, grinding into my engorged, throbbing cock, I took my card in the palm of my hand and guided my hand under the neck of her dress and under her bra. As her friends noticed and quickly formulated to jump in, her body froze in shivers. Flicking her erect nipple and removing my hand, I whispered in her ear before ambitiously biting her neck, “Text me. You’ll be glad you did.” And I was gone, off to continue my night elsewhere.
I like to think that she bit her lip and was left speechless and in awe as her friends questioned her. I can’t know, but it didn’t take her long to text me. And to think, she had been to that bar only hoping to flirt. She found me, and considered me worthy to tease; it was obvious from her cold playfulness. But as her hand gripped the firmness of my manhood, and she locked into my hungry eyes, she lost her control of the situation. She didn’t know it at the time, but she was going to be made to suit my every desire, and I would punish her sexually a thousand fold for the boldness of her actions. Not because of anger, or resentment, but out of sheer power and lust.
“What are you wearing underneath that dress of yours?” It was just about time for my first command. She needed to come to grips with the type of man she was dealing with. And lets face it, I desperately wanted to advance the position. “My underwear doesn’t match! â˜º Lacy black panties and a white push up bra,” She responded. “That won’t do at all. Go to the bathroom and take the panties off. The rest of your night will be spent without panties.” Even though we barely know each other, I already know how she responded to my order. A jolt of excitement shot through her and she questioned whether or not she should do it. At that point, with the alcohol pounding through her system, and the memory of dancing against my massive cock fresh in her mind, she decided to give into her throbbing clitoris that had been yelling at her to do anything and everything I said. That moment, as she slid her soaked panties down to the floor, she made a choice to give into my will. Her boyfriend gone from her mind, she chose to become my slut.
"What if I don't do it?" She texted me in response, testing whether I was worthy of her decision. Smiling, knowing the time to reveal myself had come, I gave her the response she desperately needed. "If you don't do what I say now, then you will never have the pleasure of taking my giant swollen cock."
Somewhere in a club a woman let out a gentle moan.