by Violet Blue
I wormed my fingers under his tight shirtcollar, letting my knuckles press against his neck, the backs of my fingers hinting at what they could do to his chest. I grabbed one of his hands and thrust it under my latex miniskirt, the kind I manage to pull off as saying “fuck YOU” rather than “fuck me.” I rubbed his fingers along the very sheer fabric of my expensive lace panties, then maneuvered them under that veneer, sliding those callused stubs along my wetness. I pulled his fingers back out, then shoved them into his mouth. “You better get used to the way my pussy tastes, because you’re going to have my flavor on your tongue for quite a while after tonight.” I took a step back. “Say your good-byes and meet me outside in five minutes. I’ll be in the red Porsche. If you’re not ready, you’ll be sorry.” And then I did the thing that always throws them off, lures them into thinking that underneath all that gruffness I’m really a nice girl. I winked at him, smiled sweetly and planted a very soft, tender kiss on his big red lips, then pranced back into the bar. I knew that kiss, that sweet, soft mere taste of my lips on his, was enough to make him need to try it again, and try it we did. I spent the entire night teaching Jack a very important lesson about respecting women—specifically, respecting me.
We saw each other several more times before the shoes entered the picture, and each tryst served to cement Jack’s position in my life—on his knees, or across my lap; in a word: subservient. It took hardly any time at all to train this tough-talking, macho man into the perfect slave, grateful to do my bidding and getting off on my power over him.
On the date that follows my shopping expedition, armed with my new purchase, we don’t waste any time with social niceties. Both of us know exactly why we’re here, and that the best way for us to communicate isn’t with endless talking, but with his face buried in a pillow or crammed full of my cunt. That might sound cold, but with Jack, it’s amazing how much we each manage to say solely with body language. A sense of calm and strength comes over me the minute I hear him say, “Do whatever you want to me.” I feel those words travel from the ends of my hair to my razor-sharp spiked shoes, emitting their own kind of pheromones that quickly swim through my bloodstream, sharpening my resolve. To say I feel maternal toward Jack wouldn’t be totally wrong, but the feeling is a combination of so many things. I want to teach him a lesson, but I want it to be my lesson, my way. I want him to walk away from our dates not only with a raw, stinging bottom, his back scraped raw—me having left my mark, as it were—but also knowing that I know what’s best for him, because clearly I do.
It takes him mere moments to fully undress and lie down along the length of the couch. His cock is already hard, trying to worm its way between my legs as he wriggles against me. My pussy is wet, but a new kind of wet; not that urging, throbbing hole-needing-to-be-filled-immediately kind of wet, but a wetness that percolates, waiting until the moment is ripe. This kind of wetness could wait, could withstand the slow buildup, could hold out for something better. When I had time to think about it, I considered it a more mature, superior wetness, befitting a woman of my stature.
When he splays himself across my lap, the position feels as if he were meant to fit in the palm of my hand, his little bubble butt poised in the air, just waiting for me. Every babyish quality he possesses surges forth to the surface, his voice going higher, his body seeming to shrink just so, his eyes looking back at me with raw need and hope and urgency, as if I am the only one in the whole wide world who can meet his most visceral desires, and in that second, it’s true. I feel like the queen of his world as I run a hand over his face, sticking a finger in his mouth, tracing my nails along his neck, while my other hand tickles the bottom of his foot, then lightly trails up his leg, needing to touch every inch of my newfound domain. I kick out my leg, admiring the way the shoe conforms to my foot, squeezing it just so, the tip darting out in a delicious point. Then I raise my right hand and bring it down across his sweet asscheeks in a way befitting a woman wearing that shoe, befitting a woman with a man splayed across her lap like a baby.
“Unh,” he moans, a guttural groan; he’s kicking and squirming in delight. I raise my hand again, then land it on one cheek, then bring it up higher, wanting a louder, harder smack. I hold his cheek steady with my other hand, flattening that perfect curve, then bring my hand down again, while he nuzzles his face into the pillow. I keep going, enjoying the sting as it travels up my hand, then, when his sniveling gets to be too much for me, I shove two fingers in his mouth to shut him up. He bites down on them, while I keep increasing my pace, admiring how quickly his ass turns a perfect shade of red. His ass remains what it had been, two perfectly symmetrical rounded cheeks, and yet it also transforms into something else, something softer, subtler, sexier, hard and firm yet open, yielding. I marvel not only at his stamina, but also at his giving, granting me this opportunity to take over, fully and completely, no questions asked, a rarity in our highly regulated world. I stamp my feet on the ground, simply because I can, because right now, I can throw my own temper tantrum, and indeed get what I want, what we both want.
I make him get on his knees, wrists behind him. As I fasten the pink rope—bought especially for him, because despite the firm breasts, red lipstick, and spiked heels, I am clearly the man tonight—around him, he moans again. I love when he reaches that point of no return, where anything I do, any decadently dark suggestion I make, is okay. At his finest, I could bind and gag him, naked, and string him to a telephone pole, and his cock would be sticking straight up, begging for more. With his wrists secured, I place him on his hands and knees in front of me, returning to my throne. That final twist of the knot has made my pussy twinge, made me start to feel that more familiar ache that can only be filled in one of a few ways. I raise my skirt enough for his head to fit underneath it, and he dives right in, his tongue immediately going to work. He presses that fast-moving organ deep between my folds, then brings it back up to mash it against my clit, swirling in circles and then pressing deep, using his teeth. From his muffled grunts, I know he’s enjoying it, and I look down at the skirt-covered head between my legs and pat it before leaning back and closing my eyes.
For once, I let myself truly relax, practically feeling my body unravel, starting with my head. I let my mind go blank, releasing every ounce of tension and worry in my head, then doing the same from my shoulders on down. Once my precious feet are loose, hanging in the air as my heels sway, I can suddenly enjoy his tongue all the more. “Harder,” I grunt, because the truth is, I prefer fingers or dildos or cocks to tongues, but today, I want his tongue, want him to savor exactly what he’s doing to me. I lift the skirt, pulling it up around my waist until his mop of hair appears. I beam down at him proudly, knowing I have trained him well; he will only look up at me when I touch his head and grant him permission.
Under my watchful gaze he works even harder, and best of all, I know for him it’s not just work. He enjoys the taste of my twat; truly wants to get me off, and not just because once he does I will very likely allow him to slide his fat cock inside me. He has his own reasons for tasting me, for diving in with boundless enthusiasm, for making his tongue everything I want it to be. He can tell that I’m getting close, and he brings his hand, which has been clasped around my hip, up to my cunt, sliding three fingers in while continuing to torment my clit. I dig my carefully grown, manicured, just-sharp-enough nails into the back of his neck, pressing urgently against the spot I know will make him squirm, then wrap my legs around his back, letting the spikes of my shoes graze his backside, sliding down toward his pert little ass. His fingers slam into me, work overtime, curve and press frantically while his teeth nip at my clit. By unspoken agreement, I buck back against him, thrust upward even as my nails drill his face into my hole, both of us working toward a mutual goal. When I simply can’t stand it anymore, I lean my head back, throw my legs wide in the air, and he slides a fourth finger into me, the additional one that makes it a tight squeeze, a little risky, the signal that we’ve arrived. I scream
as my cunt clamps down on him, grit my teeth as my climax races through my body, a comet that burns brightly before its sparks start to fade, leaving us both slightly shaken.
Finally, he looks up at me, the lower half of his face smeared with my juices, his eyes wide and wanting. I slide off one shoe and hold it out to him, and he opens that precious mouth once again, taking the heel between his lips as reverently as one might slide a guy’s hard cock between her lipsticked lips. I hold the shoe, don’t fuck him back with it, but let him savor the heel that now seems made just for him. I let my bare foot wander to his dick, slide it up and down, fondle his length with the tender, sweaty ball of my foot.
I keep on going, wishing I could tease him all night with the power of my feet alone, no longer needing the threat of the spikes to control him. I’d love to flaunt my power by making him go home with his cock still hard, but I can’t do it—not for his sake, but for mine. I want his come, and as I slide both feet now over and around his cock, toying with the head, playing with his balls, my breath comes fast, harsher, in sync with his. He knows this is his reward, but I’m not sure if he knows it’s mine as well. I give him my fingers to suckle as he gets closer, and when he’s about to come, his sharp teeth come into play, grinding into my fingers, but I don’t mind. It’s worth a little pain to feel his hot come shoot out over my pedicured toes. He gets another treat when I raise my feet to his lips and let him lick his own come off of them, every last drop. Before he can clean up, he has to massage my feet, then soothe them with lotion before easing them back into the shoes, with which I make my exit. I look down at the heels as they click along the pavement, my clothes only slightly rumpled from our encounter. Definitely worth every penny, I think, and give the guy staring admiringly at my shoes a dazzling smile. When I get home, instead of snugly storing them in a box in the closet, I prop them right on top of my dresser, a permanent reminder of just how far I’ll dare to go, but only with the right guy—and the right shoes, of course.
UTTERLY NONDESCRIPT
Geneva King
“Last exercise and then we’re done for the day.” Sue, the leader of today’s team-building seminar, beamed around the room at us. A chorus of weak cheers answered her. Most of us were bored to tears, but we’d long learned that if we didn’t respond to Sue, she’d try something more sadistic to perk us up.
“I’m going to pass around some papers. There is a different sheet for every person. I want you to write a description of the colleague listed. Likes, dislikes, habits, anything you can think of. Then I’ll give the comments out and you can see how you are perceived by your coworkers. Isn’t that fun?”
We all filled them out as quickly as possible, then trooped back to our offices. We had finally found a fate worse than work.
I sank into my chair and checked my voice mail. I had one message from my boss.
“Jenny, I need the new shipping forms by the end of the day. By the way, good work on the McNally situation, you handled it well.”
The compliment might have held a little more weight if he had gotten my name right. For my first three years on the job, I used to correct him. After that, I just accepted the name of the day. As long as my real name was spelled properly on my paycheck.
I flipped on my computer and got to work. An hour later, I was interrupted by a knock at the door.
“Come in,” I called.
Sue poked her head in the door. “I’m not interrupting you am I? Good, I’ll just be a minute.”
I forced a smile. I had seen about enough of Ms. Chipper to last a while. “Have a seat.”
She handed me a pile of papers. “I just came to give you your peer reviews.”
I plopped the papers on my desk. “Thank you.” I went back to my work.
When she didn’t leave, I looked up at her. “I’m sorry, was there something else?”
“Aren’t you going to read them? That way we can discuss them.”
I didn’t want to read the reviews; I knew what they were going to say. Nice girl. Quiet. Keeps to herself.
“Sure, why not?” I picked up the reviews and leafed through them. Sure enough, they said exactly what I had suspected. Nice. Quiet. Wears dark colors. Don’t really know her. That roughly translated into plain. Mousy. Nondescript. Utterly nondescript.
Sue cleared her throat. “One thing I noticed about your reviews was that, while people said nice things, they didn’t have much to say. I didn’t feel like I know who you are as a person and I don’t think your coworkers do either. Now Jayla, isn’t it important to you to be a social part of the team?” She gave me one of her smiles.
The phone saved me. “Jayla Stevens, how may I help you?”
“When are you leaving work?” my friend Kim screeched at me. I could tell she was in her car from the sounds of traffic.
“Soon. I have some work to finish. Look, I’m in a meeting. I’ll call you when I get home.”
“Cool, I have a new spot for us. I want to be out by eleven.”
“Okay, bye.”
I got up from my desk and walked over to Sue. “Thank you so much for bringing these by. I’ll take your advice into consideration. You’ve been most helpful.” I ushered her to the door, guiding her out before she remembered that we didn’t actually discuss anything.
I got home with about four hours to get ready for the evening. I should have been tired after a full day of work, but my body was taut with excitement. My work persona was slipping away and my inner vixen was waking up. In another hour, she’d be ready to come out and play.
Off came my black flats, tan pants, and blouse. I unhooked my white cotton bra and stepped out of my high-cut underwear. I threw them in the hamper and hopped in the shower. Tonight, I pulled out my Caress body wash. The scent was sexier than Dove, and it would keep me aroused every time I breathed it in.
Kim had sounded pretty excited on the phone so I dressed carefully. Ordinarily, I’d go for sensual, but after those damn peer reviews, I needed something stronger, something sluttier. I picked an extremely short black skirt and a deep red halter top. If I bent over, my ass would be completely exposed. I decided to forgo panty hose in favor of my crotchless panties. I finished the outfit with a pair of spiky stilettos that showed my freshly painted toes. Red, to match the top.
The last and most important part was my mask. Not an actual mask, so much as eye-catching makeup. It had to be dramatic enough to alter my appearance. When I had the mask on, I was unstoppable. I stopped being nondescript Jayla and became the sexy, vibrant, nasty girl at the party. The girl who would ride a guy until his eyes rolled back in his head. The woman who could take any dick down her throat. She’d fuck a man and lick a pussy, sometimes at the same time.
True to form, we were out the door by 11:00 P.M. on the dot. Kim raised her eyebrows slightly when she saw my outfit. “Rough day?” She knew these trips were therapeutic for me.
I shrugged. “Nothing tonight can’t cure. Ready Shelley?”
She grinned at my use of her assumed name. “Let’s go, Alexandra.”
We took her car, radio blaring Lloyd Banks’s album. I rapped along with the CD trying to ignore the sensations welling up inside me. My fingers were tapping on my leg dangerously close to my inner thigh.
“Don’t you dare masturbate in my car. These seats are leather. Wait, we’re almost there.”
We pulled up to a run-down building fifteen minutes later. I smoothed my skirt down before following Kim to the door. What looked like a warehouse turned out to be an underground club. The room was packed with couples gyrating on the floor. There were couches against the walls, and most were filled with people talking or fucking.
As we walked back to the bar, I felt someone grab my leg. I turned around to see a woman smiling at me while a man sucked her pussy. I watched as she closed her eyes in obvious delight, lifting her pelvis to his mouth. One of his hands held the folds of her labia apart, while the other traveled up and down my leg. I knelt beside the woman on the couch and op
ened her blouse. Pierced nipples peeked out at me and I took one in my mouth. She jumped beneath me, her hands pressing into my head. I flicked my tongue over it then took it between my teeth.
“Yes! Yes!” she groaned.
I paid the same attention to the other nipple and let my fingers caress the one I’d just left. The man found the hole in my panties and slid his finger into my cunt. Her moans were intoxicating and driving me closer to the brink, but I didn’t want to come yet. I focused on pleasuring her as he fucked us on the couch.
She smelled delicious. I wanted to taste her, but thought it would be presumptuous to interrupt him. She started to shake and then she came, the juices coursing over his face. I took my mouth from her breast to lick her cum from his face.
“You didn’t come.” It was a statement, not a question.
I shook my head. “Later.”
He stood up and I saw that his dick had sprung free from his boxers. I took his cock in my hands, stroking his shaft while rolling my palm over the head. His eyes closed and he swayed slightly.
