VIGNETTE 1: MY UNDOING
Hooked?
No, not me. Couldn’t be me.
I’d been out of the game too long. Brief interludes at midnight had been replaced by early bedtimes with my spouse.
When all the dust from my experimental days settled, where did I find myself?
Lonely and desperately horny. I wanted someone to scratch the itch left unsatisfied by my husband.
I didn’t need this man’s cock. I’d gone this long without it and survived. I could find someone else.
How could I possibly get hooked when that was my reality?
It’s a question I’m still trying to answer.
–
He was a cocky motherfucker. Not my style of Dom, but whatever. I was versatile and wanted to use him as a toy with a personality.
Super easy. Right?
The fucker was insufferable. Literally one of those guys who thinks they’re God’s gift to women, but they’re actually the ones whose pic ends up on the “Are we dating the same guy?” Facebook groups.
Or that’s what I thought.
He was attractive, yeah.
But he had a terrible accent. Like the worst, most stereotypical shit you could imagine.
And on top of that? He was like the world’s grumpiest asshole.
Absolutely hated to be bothered.
Except by me.
The thing is, the more we talked, the hotter he became. He obviously felt challenged by my interest in others and had to have me choose him.
He was laying it on thick, trying to draw me in. We went back and forth, giving each other shit. The in and out of that was borderline orgasmic.
And then he told me to take my vibrator out.
Out of curiosity, I followed his instructions. This was going to be a quick, fun time, I’d cum, and I’d move on.
The first time lasted an hour and a half. I’m pretty sure my vibrator almost overheated.
He sent me voice messages while alternating intensity levels on my toy. Halfway through, I found myself straddling a pillow to press my vibrator directly against my cervix while he fucked me. By the end, I was a barely intelligible, sticky mess sprawled out on my bed with juices dripping down to my dilating asshole.
I knew I wanted this, whatever this was.
Removing the vibrator from my swollen pussy, I slowly inserted my dildo. I wanted to feel like he was inside of me while we talked.
I had to run errands. He was at work.
The funniest part is that this man told me he was busy, but he kept coming back to tease me.
I was the one who was supposed to be hooked, I thought sarcastically, confident I’d bested this asshole.
The more shit he gave me, the more I gave him. He let me push every button I could find and basically laughed at me.
I was a strong, confident, experienced woman, and I was naked, riding a toy he controlled for another two hours.
He hammered my cervix.
He tapped my clit to emphasize things he said.
My climaxes washed over me in waves and eventually started to blend into each other until I felt totally overwhelmed and out of my mind.
And then he kept going.
And going.
Saying the filthiest fucking things.
Being an asshole.
Making me cum until I was hoarse and my throat was sore.
–
Today?
I feel so sore and swollen. Like his cock is still inside of me.
When it was freshly fucked yesterday, my pussy continued to randomly clench for hours after he finished with it. Even today, I can feel a spasm in my pussy when the soreness takes over or I think about him.
I’m not hooked.
I would’ve woken him up with a blowjob this morning.
I’m not hooked.
Every message from him causes another spasm.
I’m not hooked.
I want so badly to push his buttons.
To tease him.
To be his good girl.
To be full of his cum right now.
I’m hooked.
Fucker.
VIGNETTE 2: WHAT HAPPENS ONCE HE WINS
Utter chaos.
Maybe I should’ve been named Loki or Anansi, but those were boys’ names and I was most definitely a girl.
Lying back on my bed for a few minutes of respite in the eye of my hurricane, I relished the feeling of a fluffy pillow. Days of restlessness had caused the tension in my muscles to reach a breaking point. Reaching up high over my head and arching my back to stretch, I let out an involuntary moan.
My nipples strained against my tight white tank top, begging for attention, and who could say no with that kind of access?
The fingers of my right hand traced along the hem of my tank top strap, moving lower to the neckline where the peaks of my nipples hid from view. I slid my left hand across my hips to my belly, my feet planted on the bed and legs spread slightly.
Slut.
He’d called me that so casually. Not a big deal at all. As if it wasn’t the world’s biggest insult to the average person.
My right thumb, index, and middle fingers pushed the neckline down until my nipple was exposed, gripping it tightly but not roughly. I could feel a fresh layer of wetness drench my needy pussy as my left hand made its way down to the crotch of my shorts where I pressed three fingers against my swollen but covered mound.
Slut.
No, I’m not. A slut would have someone else’s cock inside her right now. I only wanted his.
My right hand began to massage my breasts, barely managing as each one made for an overflowing handful. The fingers pressed against the outside of my shorts moved to the outside of my panties where every grind of my hips dampened them a little more.
A tiny whimper escaped my throat as I continued to let my mind wander over the possibility of what we’d do next. I was curious to see where this adventure would lead.
Was he capable of triggering my different switches?
Slut.
Is it slutty to turn into a different person based on the way someone touches me?
My fingers moved in circles, pressing the fabric of my panties into the soaked cleft between my legs as I pondered.
Touch my neck with your fingertips or lips and gently cup the back of my neck, and I’d do anything to be your good girl…
I lifted my hips for more direct contact with my fingers, knowing I still wanted more.
Slide your panties out of the way, slut.
I followed the directions you’d seared into my brain.
One finger circling my tight, needy little hole five times. Same with my nipples, adding in pinches and twists.
Look how wet my slutty little girl is for me.
…grip the back of my neck more aggressively, and I turn into Kinky Normcore Sex Barbie. Soccer mom by day, nympho by night.
All four fingers flatly caressed my clit, my wetness creating a squelching sound in a room where only the whir of the fan and my hitching breaths filled the air.
You really are such a fucking slut. Look at you, baby, trying to get off and all you can think about is taking my cock.
…A hand on my throat, you’d better plan to take whatever you want by any means necessary.
With that thought, I jammed two fingers inside my dripping cunt, pumping and curling them wildly. My pelvis was rising rhythmically against my hand, desperate for my achy clit to get some relief. My abdomen clenched in ways I didn’t know were possible, and I realized that at some point, my legs had spread wide open.
If only you could see the mess I’m making right now, I thought.
See? You’re a slut. Own that shit.
My fingers started moving more frantically, toes curling. I desperately wanted you buried inside of me balls deep for hours.
My legs were raised up in the air as if by magic. I used a third finger to stretch my pussy further as I fucked it, pretending my fingers were you pushing both of us closer and closer to climax.
You love being my slutty little fuck toy, don’t you, baby?
I do today, Daddy, I think as my pussy clenches around my fingers and my body begins to thrash in desperate need to cum. God himself could walk in, and I wouldn’t want to stop.
With one last gasp, I let out a series of moans that could be heard down the block. Then silence except for the fan and the whimpers of a totally spent slut.
Different switches, different girl.
