Someone else's fantasy

I love bisexual boys.

There is something so appealing about a man who takes it up the arse without the God-fearing anxiety that this may somehow immediately rob him of his masculinity and likes to play with me. Bonus.

This one is a ballet dancer I chance upon in a fetish club.

Actually, it's my friend who does, marvelling at his rock hard abs. I join the conversation and soon it's clear that my dommy attire (high-waisted jodhpurs, thigh-high boots, a see through black shirt buttoned up to the neck, my short white hair slicked back with a Teutonic efficiency and a riding crop in my hand) holds quite an attraction to our boy. It's just an outfit, but as they say, look the part, be the part.

'Come with me', I say in an imperious manner, and walk away. He follows me to the play area. My friend waves us off happily. We like to share.

We find the nearest fuck booth and play for a bit. And chat in between all the kissing and rubbing. I am direct to the point of rudeness but he's happy to answer all of my questions. He likes to play with the boys. Likes to be fucked by them. 

Well, I am not a boy and I don't have a strap-on handy. But do I have an idea. Idea that is really my own idea of having fun, but I decide to try it on him.

'I want you to wank for me. Lie down'

He does so obediently, holding his rock-hard cock eagerly.

He starts wanking and closes his eyes.

'Open your eyes', I order. 'And look at me'

He does, his hand on his cock, palms working the head of it in short strokes. 

I lean against the wall, watching him, tapping my boot with the crop in time with his rhythm.

I love watching boys wank, their techniques, favourite moves, exercised so thoroughly over the years.

He reaches out to touch me.

'No. Do not touch me!', I lash the offending hand with a sharp stroke of the crop. 'Focus on yourself'

He retracts the hand but eyes are still fixed on mine. He clearly likes being told.

I start talking slowly. Savouring every word.

'What and I going to do with you? I think I will take you to a gay nightclub, you little... boy slut. Because you like boys. I will take you to a dark room. You know, a dark room, full of sweaty big men, wanking, blowing each other and fucking up the arse. Sweat and cum everywhere. Can you smell it?'

He wanks even harder now and starts moaning.

'Be quiet', I gently put the soft tip of the riding crop on his mouth.'I don't want to hear you. Promise to be quiet. Just nod your head'

He does eagerly and I can see precum dripping onto his palms. I run the whip up and down his chest, occasionally teasing his nipples.

'I will put you in the corner, cuff you and write 'USE ME' on your back with a glow-in-the-dark marker in nice big letters so you are shining in the dark like a good cum slut that you are. I will have the men queue up to fuck you. Big hairy bears, one by one taking you up the arse. I may let them bareback you as well. Depending on what mood I'll be in'

I can see how close he is to coming because he starts arching and his fingers work his cock even faster now.

'Stop', I say. He doesn't.

'I said stop!' and I swiftly catch his hand with the tip of my crop. It definitely hurts enough for him to stop.

I come closer, kneel and start whispering into his ear.

'There will be men fucking you, there will be men all around you wanking, covering you in cum. Your back, your shoulders, your hair and face. You will be dripping in it.'

His eyes stare at me pleadingly, his cock straining for touch. His own, mine, anybody's. I am half tempted to leave him there and find an obliging cock now. But that would be cruel and logistical nightmare anyway.

'You may wank again', I say. I know he's ready. He grabs his cock and starts again in furious strokes.

'And you know what? I am there all the time, watching you. Chatting with the other men, laughing, pointing at you, managing the queue. And after taking at least 6 you will be too sore to take any more and you will start crying. So to make you shut up, I will have the biggest cock in the room fuck you in your mouth, right down your throat to keep you quiet and have another sodomise you again. So that you will be fucked in all holes to make you understand that you are a little dirty boy slut'

And that does it. He spurts, groaning and shaking, onto these rock hard abs, pumping his cock right until the last drop.

As his spasms quieten, I put my hand on his forehead and stroke him gently.

'Are you all right?', I ask. For some reason I fear I may have gone too far or it was too intense or whatever.

'Yes, and thank you. Thank you', he replies and closes his eyes.

In public

I meet him in a ball pit in a fetish club. You know, one of these things designed for kids, ball pits, not fetish clubs. And I feel like a kid as I am just slowly taking off on MDMA with a massive rush, luxuriating in textures and shapes, happy like an 8-year-old.

He plonks himself next to me. Slim, strawberry blonde, beautiful.

We chat for a bit as you do. His elfin face and feminine affectation is very endearing. I am easy and flowing. It all feels good.

Then he kisses me. His tongue is small, delightful, teasing. We are kissing and kissing and kissing, under the constant waterfall of falling balls. My face keeps disappearing, enveloped in darkness. 

All there is, is his lips.

In the end, I open my corset myself then guide his hand in. I want him on my breasts. I like the body to body experience of teenage-like lust. Gentle pinch of the nipples from his hands, I utter a vocal appreciation of it as I start moaning into his mouth. He pulls me closer and I feel his cock, hard and teasing my thigh. I feel that overwhelming aching need to have him inside me now.

He's the man in the situation.

"Shall we go to the Couples' Room?", he asks with that delightful eagerness that mirrors mine.

He doesn't need to ask me that. I want that beautiful man to fuck me so much I would climb Mount Everest in flip flops.

We are rushing there, I lead, navigating the crowd so quickly he barely keeps up with me. And once we are there, behind the muslin curtains, we go for the first available space, next to a couple leisurely playing with each other.

We lay down, kiss more and I am now free to writhe under him at will. He takes off his trousers and I see his cock. It's so beautiful it takes my breath away. Pink, thick, smooth, just the right length with a well trimmed bush, hard as rock. Delicious.

I want to suck it  but a stupid self-conscious thought of appearing too needy gets into my head. Never mind because he is on top of me, still kissing me, saliva dropping from his mouth into mine. I lock him between my thighs. I feels right.

I want him now. I rip off my corset and then comically struggle with my leggings and boots.

"Do you have any condoms?' 

"No", his face displays sheer desperation which is a mirror image of mine. I want him inside me. I want that gorgeous thickness to penetrate me.

He dashes off to ask around but I am entertained. The guy in the couple next to us starts fingering me and I like it. I touch his girl's tits, fascinated by the set up. I have never done it before but it feels natural. I love her nipples.

My boy is back. With a condom. He puts it on his cock and he enters me. It's heaven. You see, for a me, to have a hard, beautiful cock inside me is always a special happening. It's a big compliment.

For a moment he goes soft and I can see his beautiful boyish face furrow in worry.

"Stop it', I say. "Stop it. You are so gorgeous. Let me suck your cock"

And I do. Good Lord, he tastes like heaven. Musky, clean, fragrant. I give him long wet leisurely licks, dripping saliva on my chin, then take it all the way down to my throat. I feel him harden as he moans and holds my hair. He's a talker too and I like it.

"God, you are amazing at it. Don't stop." he whispers to me. I know I am good. The Teacher taught me how to suck cock properly.

And he's ready again.

He starts fucking me from behind holding my neck. I sway towards him, hungry for more, for him to fill me up. He moans and stretches, his hands cling to my neck a bit harder and he comes in a shudder while I squeeze his cock with my soaked cunt.

I turn around, look at his cock all wet, softening slowly, with his sperm in a neat pool at the end of the condom. I take it off and lick the tip of his cock. I smile. I knew his spunk would be as delicious as the whole of him.

'You are amazing', he says kissing my face gently.

'So are you... Would you like to be my lover?', I respond.

'Yes, I would love to', he breathes into my neck.

We get up and face several people around us, watching us, smiling and giving us thumbs up.

I smile graciously.

And, I can't wait to fuck him again.

 

First kiss

'Great necklace', the guy says and stares at my tits. "What does it say?"

"It's my nickname", I say coldly.

"How do you pronounce that?", he gets closer.

The Boy sweeps in with our drinks, assesses the situation and drapes his arm around me protectively. I smile, I say my nickname to the guy, who scowls at The Boy and skulks off.

"I can't leave you for five minutes! You get a lot of attention", he laughs.

"I do. But then so do you", I say and I mean it. He gets looked at quite a bit because he is beautiful, no two ways about it. His hair is freshly washed, swept to one side, he's wearing his jeans inside his boots with a red and black lumberjack shirt. He looks like a cowboy gypsy. The girls, fresh faced and gorgeous, in their early twenties in cut off denim shorts, torn tights, long messy hair and heavy eye make up eye him up, and then move to assess me. I am in my full woman regalia. Skin-tight striped jersey dress, swept back platinum blonde hair, minimal make up with red lips and dark brows. I stand out from the rock chick crowd. I know they resent me and admire me at the same time. I don't care and they know that too.

As he holds me, his hand leisurely slides down and is now planted in my most erogenous zone. The small of my back. His palms barely skirt the curve of my buttocks and yet I arch in a Pavlov's dog reaction.

'Are you okay?', he checks suddenly, noticing my tenseness.

'Yes, I am. And I like when you do that. Do that a bit more. I want your hand there. It gives me pleasure', only when I say it I realise I literally narrated my thoughts out loud.

"You do?", he stares at me with his wolfish grey eyes. Can't read his expression because I am too startled by what I just said.

Fuck it. I hear my voice again, it's just my thoughts, pouring out with no consideration for propriety, playing the game, being cool or whatever the fuck I usually do when I make a play for someone.

"I love the way you hold me. I love feeling your hands on me and I love your body against mine. And I really want you. Even now, right now, I can imagine how you would feel between my legs",

There, I've fucking said it. I am sober, present and clear. And yet, I've said it.

For a split moment I think I overdid it and feel like a fucking shy teenager, grateful for the dimmed lights as my face is burning.

He simply turns me towards him, slowly takes me in his arms and holds me very tight. I hide my face in his chest, my mind racing.

Fuck fuck fuck! I feel like I am sixteen again.

Then his hand travels to my neck, I let my head fall into it comfortably, his lips lightly brush mine and we kiss. His tongue flicks over my lips, skirting my teeth. We stand there, glued to each other, for a moment I feel like a happy statue, immobile and fixed in a place where it feels right. Our tongues play lightly, with no rush, I tease his with mine gently, withdrawing it in little feline licks, brushing the edge of his mouth on the way out. He pulls me closer, his right hand in the small of my back, his left snaking up and around my neck, sliding into my hair. My hands wander to the favourite part of him. His back has a deep muscular ridge running down it, right to his buttocks. As I melt into him, I feel it. His cock. It's hard, pressed against my belly. It delights me so much that I gasp, right into his mouth and feel the unmistakable pang of desire between my legs, so intense it's almost painful. I know that with it comes the slithery wetness and I squeeze my thighs together, swaying my hips towards him again just to feel the hardness of his cock again. Then, I open my eyes. His lips still on mine, his eyes open too and he smiles. I know because his eyes are smiling and I sense his lips curving on mine.

'Wow', he says.

'I know', I say.

Tenderness

The Boy has beautiful eyes. That's a fact. Deep, wolfish grey, with flickers of green, like mine, framed by long eyelashes. He has a beautiful face too. Small nose, round lips showing small even teeth and gorgeous cheekbones. There is an ambiguous tinge of femininity in his look and there is something androgynously enticing about it, because he is playful, charming and wily. Just like me.

But today his face isn't right. It's ashen and shrunken, his eyelashes fall in soft fringes on his cheeks.

The hubub of A&E around us, nurses shouting out names, tannoy announcements and the drunken man stubbornly arguing with a vending machine only vaguely register in my mind. My focus is fully on him.

He's sitting down, I am crouched between his knees, holding my hands over his, smoothing them down,  trying to ease them into mine, straightening his fingers gently one by one on the fabric of his jeans.

'Can you hold your hands down darling? It will calm your breath', I ask, injecting as much calm as I possibly can into my voice.

He catches a sharp breath. The pain is back.

'Breathe into it darling. Just breathe into it. It will pass...'

He stretches his hands on his knees, but he hunches forward trying to stop the pain. I know that he hunching will exacerbate it so I get up, stand right between his knees and let him rest his head on my stomach to keep him straight.

I take his head into my hands and I stroke his soft hair gently, methodically running my fingers through the silky strands, trying to absorb his pain into me because every time he twitches and moves, it's like a tiny shard of glass sticking deeper into my heart.

He lifts his head and looks at me. His eyes are hazy, the translucent grey irises glowing with vulnerability.

'Shhhhhh', I say and let his head fall into me again.

I want to take him home. I want him in my bed, pain-free, resting at last. I imagine him there, sleeping peacefully in the light of my bedside lamp.

Tenderness. Doesn't come to me easily. Yet with him, I am awake, aware and full of love.

Reality check

I am gallivanting in my private members club with an old lover of mine, Mr PR, who is treating me to lunch with a view of fucking me later.

Mr PR is fantastic. He is smart, extremely funny, successful and and a dominating fucker. It's cats and dogs with sex thrown in when we get together. Plus he has a big cock which he loves almost as much as he loves himself. Which is a lot.

I swoon in and he's waiting for me already. I sashay purposefully while he's taking in the view. It's a game we play.

We lunch, he's getting pissed on expensive wine while I am sipping my favourite cranberry juice and watch him. He likes sparring with me in preparation for later. Every smart arse response, anything that he perceives as an intellectual defeat on his part will be repaid to me in full, with spanking interest, when we will be alone.

I continue the the game and I am ever so good at it. I am bold, head held high, in my tight dress and sky-high heels. I cross my legs, I curve my body on the chaise-longue I decided to perch on for dessert. I am in my full feline mode seduction mode. He is recently single and there is an additional layer to his usual banter. He tells me how much he missed me when I was off the market, all loved up with The Lover. I don't respond in kind. He likes me strong and unavailable because that makes the chase more exciting. And makes him feel like he really scored, because somehow he conquers me every time, even if the arrangement is painfully clear from the start.

We decide to leave with the tacit agreement of checking into a nearest hotel and proceeding to a fucking session. I am laughing at some insider gossip he tells me, (media darling!)and push the heavy oak door open.

Still laughing uproariously, I walk straight into The Boy.

"Hey... what are you doing here?", he says and takes me in his arms. Instinctively my body just gives in, I inhale his scent and then remember. Mr PR is right behind me. He's standing there in a wary pose, pointedly waiting. I babble nervously and introduce them to each other. The Boy sweeps his hair and says 'Hey man' while Mr PR extends his arm for firm handshake.

All of the sudden, my dress, the heels, the laugh, the whole fucking 'look at me' persona of mine seems ludicrous. When I see The Boy, I am not a sex kitten. I am usually dressed in shorts and Converse, fresh-faced from hurtling around on my bike or with the puppy in tow who's chewing on my laces while we chat leisurely. 

Worlds colliding doesn't even begin to describe this. And it's not just their worlds that are just smashing into each other. It's mine. It's the old me and the new me. 

My babbling awkwardness is odd. After all, The Boy and I are not an item. I haven't even kissed him properly, let alone fucked him. 

'Hey, we were just having a meeting', I keep on wittering while The Boy looks at me searchingly. We say goodbyes and leave.

"So... how do you know him?', he asks Mr PR as casually as we walk out.

'Oh, I've known him for ages, he used to work here'

Mr PR is quiet for a moment. 

"Oh well', he says smugly. "He might have a wet dream about you tonight but it's me who's fucking you this afternoon'

I have a feeling of deja vu. This has happened before. Exactly the same situation, the same conversation in exactly the same place, with The Boy, two months ago, although back then The Boy wasn't yet The Boy, he was just the friendly face in my private members club, and the man in a suit next to me was The Lover. 

And I realise I am no longer looking at Mr PR, I am looking at The Lover. The same suit, the same dark hair, the same air of cocky superiority, the same fucking 'you are my trophy' status-anxiety ridden attitude, perfectly in sync with my act. I am no longer me. I am a fucking platinum blonde accessory. I am the 'fuck you' to the other guy.

I thought I moved on but I haven't. Here I am with a fucking hologram of what I always went for in the past and the hologram of me that used to enjoy that shit. And like with holograms, none of it is real.

I turn around. Mr PR is looking at me with a smirk, buttoning up his jacket, ready and revved up.

"Shall we?'

I decide that I may have just arrived at the same station I left from but it's time to hop on a different train. 

"Sorry, I am actually really tired so I am going to have to call it a day'

"What the fuck?", he explodes. It's a fair question.

"No, I am not tired. You know, it just doesn't feel right. And it's me, not you..", I trail off as I realise I just walked into an elephant size cliche trap.

"Oh for fuck's sake...', he starts but something in my face is telling him it's not worth it.

"You are weird, you know', he sputters. Hell hath no fury like a man with a semi-erection scorned.

"What is it with you..?", he starts again and then I notice that face on him that all public schoolboys get when they don't get their way and default the ra-ra act hasn't worked. A desolate little boy on the train platform clutching a teddy bear and saying goodbye to the Nanny. He never finishes the sentence and walks off slightly unsteady on his feet, all that expensive Merlot, and the Amaretto he downed for dessert clearly taking its toll.

I walk back in.

The Boy is there, loitering behind the bar, bantering with the grizzly yet twinkly-eyed Spanish manager.

"You're back", he beams.

"Welcome back beautiful", grins the Spaniard.

'Yes I am. The meeting is over'

The Boy smiles 'Cranberry juice, no ice, right?'

'Yes please', I plonk myself on the bench and take my heels off. And suddenly I feel like me again.

Different angle

I meet Teacher for a lunch and walk. We are no longer lovers. The man who discovered and freed the natural slut in me, is now a friend.


I watch his hands (and beautiful hands they are, large with long thick, confident fingers) as he takes me through the minutiae of the workings of my camera. They are no longer fingers that left angry red marks on my bottom or pinched my nipples as I stood in front of him, dressed like a schoolgirl, with my shirt open, ready to be used. They push the camera buttons expertly, slide small latches and push little wheels, like they used to push me outside of my comfort zone, guiding me to the unexplored parts of me.

His focus and single-mindedness that I used to find unnerving and exhilarating in equal measure, are now are calming lotion for my impatient questioning.

His voice, once seeping darkest fantasies into my ear, now feels comforting as he kneels behind me, talking me through aperture settings and exposure.

I sit on the stairs in the beautiful Georgian building we are exploring together, taking picture of myself in the large Victorian mirror, my image distorted by the old looking-glass. 

When I look at the picture at home, I notice him behind me. He's kneeling, with his camera, taking picture of me. I am the Hitchcockian peroxide blonde, with big vulnerable eyes, he is a ghostly presence behind me, face obscured by the camera, ever watchful. I like him there. It feels safe. And in one epiphany moment I realise that I always felt safe with him the way I probably never felt with anyone else. And knowing that feels good.

Puppy love

There is a word that describes the way I feel about him. I struggle to find it.

I walk straight in and clock him. He is sitting on a bar stool, fully focussed on his laptop. The two pretty waitresses smile at me invitingly at me. I beam at them happily but I don't waste time.

I walk up straight to him and without saying much I fall straight into his arms. I relax fully, quietly, my face on his shoulder. He rocks me in his arms first then starts dancing with me, his hips gently pushing mine into the beat of the music. I sway with him, inhale his scent, melt into his body and then let go first. I look up and realise that I can't see him properly. My eyes are hazy and my head is spinning. We both take a step back, the magnetic pull between us easing comfortably, yet, for some reason we are left holding hands like a pair of kids.

We chat animatedly about the party I want him to organise for me, I am fully focused on him. I no longer care about who's looking, who I am due to impress. I am looking into his greyish blue eyes and that's what I care about right at this moment. Just being with him. I tell him why it matters that things go well. 

"Don't worry. You just relax. I'll take care of everything". And I believe him.

When I leave, I say 'Let's catch up, me and you because I adore you, you know?' Before I start feeling remotely self-conscious, he grabs me, pulls me closer and kisses me gently on the lips.

I walk away and then realise that I am a little bit in love with him. I haven't fucked him. We haven't even had a date. And none of it matters. No, bollocks. I am in love with him, like I have never been before. I realise I have nothing to prove. I am no longer the sex kitten, not the cool cat, not the sulky princess, the feisty sub that likes a good fight, not even the standard issue charmer that I like to morph into to prove a point. I am just me. And that is something I will have to think about a bit more.