More crazy silly ramblings. Eventually I'll get around to real posts, I swear.

Cross-posting this if I can on Literotica.

Sometimes "No" Means "If You Bite Me First" (Chapter Two)

I woke up a while later in the cab.  There was no light at all, in fact, it was hard to tell if my eyes really were open.  That probably meant it had been a couple of hours, since it was pretty late in the day when I pulled off to take a leak.  Shit, way to make it to Amarillo, I thought.  I wondered how much time I had left in the night, or if I’d slept too far into it.

Then I remembered what had happened, and a wave of embarrassment flooded over me.  I should have been scared, considering, but all I felt was stupid for flipping out around a man I didn’t know.  A pretty man I didn’t know.  A Dominant man I didn’t know.  Great.  Screw these panic attacks.

I sat up, figuring if he had stepped out that I could make it back to my car in the darkness and get the hell out and move on to another town, another place to explore.  I felt that all of my clothing was in place, and noticed my collar was missing.  It’s a hard thing to miss, actually, since I wore it pretty snug.  I felt around on the bed for it and accidentally got a palm full of denim-on-thigh.

Shit!

I leapt up, tripped on my own feet, and fell back down.  Well, if he hadn’t been awake then, he was fucking awake now!  A huge, strong arm encircled me again and held me down against the mattress.  I realized I could talk again.

“Dude,” I whispered, “Please let go of me, I have to go.  This has been fun, but I’ve gotta get outta town.”

“You’re out of town,” the rough voice in the darkness answered.  “And it’s ‘Sir,’ not ‘dude.’  Say it again, kitten, and I’ll take this belt off.”

I couldn’t help but laugh.  “Your belt?  Really?  What are you going to do, give me a whoopin’?”  The second I said it I knew it was a stupid thing to say.  I stopped laughing immediately.  This was a pretty big man.  I bet he could swing a belt pretty hard, come to think of it.  It was as exciting as anything else, but I didn’t feel it was necessary to press my luck anymore with this stranger.  I went with “I’m sorry, Sir.”  Just saying the word again sent that warm, tingly sensation through my lower body.  I remembered my place and the rebellious part of me shut the hell up.  “May I please go, Sir?”

“No.”

Goddammit.

I laid there, still, waiting for him to make the next move.  He asked this time if I wanted to be properly dominated.  I flushed in the dark, that bitterness and sour feeling returning.  “No,” I answered simply, mimicking his own previous answer in brevity.

His fingers stroked up my middle, running under my shirt and caressing my flesh.  Electricity sparked through my body from the skin he touched, forcing a little sigh out of my lungs.  I hoped he hadn’t heard it, but the growing purposefulness of his fingers let me know he had.

“Please, Sir,” I whispered to the ceiling.  “I do not want to be dominated, I don’t want to be touched, it’s never right.”

He rolled further toward me and I felt his rough, sexy stubble against my shoulder, his smoke-tinted breath on my neck.  His lips touched my shoulder, his teeth grazed my skin, his mouth worked its way in toward my neck and bit down tenderly on muscle and grew in intensity.  The electricity sparked through me again and I accidentally let out a little moan.  He nibbled up my neck and sunk his teeth into my ear around my piercings, and I couldn’t control myself for a second.  My arm came up and gripped his upper arm, my back arched and I whispered “please!”

“Please what?”

“Please…please sir…” I already felt silly about having said it, but he was chewing on me again and it hurt so deliciously good.

“Please sir what?”

“Please…um…oh… please do that again, Sir…”

A happy sound rumbled through him and he ran a hand through my hair and kissed me on the lips.  His stubble burned on my skin, but his tongue worked mine and my hips lifted of their own accord.  His fingers slid into my jeans and stroked my wet slit, grinding tenderly at my clitoris and eliciting more sighs and little moans.

For a split second out of the bliss I remembered where I was and what we were doing, and my mind snapped back to hopelessness.  “No,” I whispered, “this is a waste of time, just hurt me, fuck me, and let’s get out of here.”

He stopped touching me everywhere, and deep inside of me I was sad I had made it stop, even though it was absolutely right.  I’d fucked my share of men, and no man had made me come.  In the end all of the foreplay had led to the guy jizzing and going to sleep.  He didn’t know that, he couldn’t have, and what kind of service would it be to let him waste his time?

I took advantage of his stillness by reaching down and sliding off my pants.  I pulled off my top, too, and lay back in the blackness and waited.  If we were the going to do this, I wanted to just do it and get back to my car.

“Who fucked you up?”

Oh, come on.  “Nobody fucked me up, I’m a terrific lay.  Don’t assign me a sob story.”

“I’ll be giving the orders, kitten.”

I shut up except for a yes Sir and stared up into absolute blackness.  He tried to stroke me in various ways again, but I shied away from it when I could and zoned out when I couldn’t.   I didn’t want to be here anymore.  I wanted to be in Amarillo.  In my car, in a hotel room, it didn’t matter as long as I was alone.

There was a sharp sting as his hand struck my tit.  “Hey!”  I shouted, snapping right out of my zone and pissed at the blow.  “What the fuck, ma-…Sir.  What the hell?”

“You weren’t paying attention.  Look,” he rumbled, “I don’t know what idiot taught you to do this, but it’s not what I like.  Do your new Dom the favor of paying attention and being responsive.”

“My new what?  Excuse me?  I’m owned, sorry fella.”

I felt the thick leather of my collar on the tip of my nose and made a grab for it, missed, and tried to push him off of me.  “Look!”  I snapped, “You can play top, you can play sexy, you can even fuck me.  But you don’t own me, and I’m not going to do anyone any favors by pretending to like anything!”

“Pretending?”  He snorted.  He bit into my shoulder again and I tried my hardest to suppress a moan.  His finger pushed into my slippery hole and I arched into it, too overwhelmed by that first feeling of penetration to think.  I heard him laugh out loud, a deep, sexy sound, and the part of me needing the physical feeling fell for the same old trick that foreplay disguised as a promise.  It won over my fear and I melted, “Okay fine, but can we keep that stuff short please Sir and get to the fucking?”

“You don’t want to be fucked.  You want it because it means that this,” he stirred my cunt like a cup of coffee, “is over faster and you won’t have to feel it.  Well guess what little kitty, you’re not getting out of it that easily.”  He slipped a second thick finger inside and my fingernails were in his flesh, my back arching, my hips grinding, his mouth on my neck.  I couldn’t stop the moaning, it just happened, it sounded like someone else in the cab crying out while his big fingers drove concentration out of my mind.

His other hand tortured a nipple under my bra, squeezing it, pinching it, bruising  it.  Suddenly terror overtook my mind as I felt something distinctly overwhelming build in my center.  I cussed and said no, no no, no…

“Yes, kitten?”

“No, please stop now, please it’s happening…”  I tried to get away from his hand, tried to scoot back and up but it only drove his hand further into my cunt, which was making a thorough mess of the bed and getting juices everywhere.

“What’s happening?”

“IT'S happening, please stop, you have to fuck me now,” I whimpered, knowing that once he started fucking me there wouldn’t be any worry of me coming, and terrified that if he didn’t stop now I’d explode and it would all be over.

Rather than quitting, he increased his rhythm, filling my cunt with his fingers and stroking all the right…shit!

I cried out and bucked as orgasm pulsed through my body and wetness spilled out across his hand.  He left his fingers inside of me until I stopped shuddering, and then pulled them out and stroked them across my skin, depositing my own juices on my belly.  I curled up, waiting for the anger, so ashamed and embarrassed.  When my heart had slowed a bit more, and when he still hadn’t said anything, I sat up and felt around for my shirt.  His hands caught my hips before I could stand up and I stayed put.  I waited patiently for him to say or do something.

Finally he did, “Who ever told you that coming was bad?”

“Oh come on!  Nobody!  Nothing is fucking wrong with me, alright?  Jeez, all you guys need a fucking damsel in distress to save, don’t you?  Shit.”

I found my shirt and slipped it over my head, fixing my bra and combing my fingers through my hair while I was at it.  Silence for a second, then suddenly his hands grabbed my shoulders and threw me down on the bed.  I couldn’t see, but I felt him above me and then his stubble was scratching my cunt lips, his fingers burrowing into my flesh to hold me down.  His tongue lapped at my clit and I shrieked and tried to scoot away from his mouth.  “Stop!  That’s really sensitive!” I howled, and then it started again almost immediately.  I couldn’t stop it, it was too strong, it built and built and I begged him to stop again, or at least to fuck me, if he was going to do this again…

He didn’t, I couldn’t, I exploded again and it felt like every part of my body was going to fly apart.  He held his mouth on my pussy for a little while after I came, waiting until it stopped pulsing, and I realized again what an idiot I was for letting him get me off again without having even started on him.  This was never going to fucking end.  I started to cry silently in frustration as he licked slowly and tenderly up and down my hole, sore from his stubble.  I waited for his hold to release and his tongue to stop to make a dash for my pants.  My hands found them but he caught my head mid-lunge and playfully shoved it onto his crotch, hard as a rock beneath his jeans.  I emitted a muffled squeal and pushed myself away from him.  I was humiliated, I was embarrassed, and I wanted out.

He let me pull away and I realized why when he asked why I was crying.  I said, “You’ve had your fun, I’m going now.  You should have fucked me when you had the chance.  It was lovely making your acquaintance, Mr…..”

“Sir.”

“Sir.”  I sighed.  Maybe he got off on anonymity.  But who was I to talk?

“Be honest, kitten, what did I do wrong, exactly?  I know you loved that.  I felt you love that.  What’s wrong?”  I was a bit taken off guard by the tenderness in his rough voice, but part of me knew that was a key point of the play.

“I told you, nothing is wrong.  I can’t help what my body does.  Look, it’s been swell, but the swelling’s gone down.”

"So why are you crying?”

“Please, it’s been a long time, and the cops are going to come knocking on your cab door if you just stay here all night.”

“Come to a motel with me, then, we’re not that far from Amarillo.”

“You’re off your rocker.”

“Maybe I’m just not done.”

“I gave you plenty of chances to fuck me, you decided to fingerbang me instead.”

“I meant with you.”

Geez.  “Whatever, fine.  I’ll follow, I promise, let me out.”

“And how exactly do I know you’ll follow me, hmm, kitten?”

His tone made me stop.  Now that he'd said it, I didn’t want to leave, anymore.  He was toying with me like a puppet.  “You’ll pay for the room?  …I want two beds.”

“I’ll cover it.”

“…I’ll follow, then.  I’m tight on funds.”  I sighed.  It was completely true.  A free room was worth it, it wasn’t like getting raped was really a risk, anyways.  “Find a place that serves breakfast,” I added.

“Deal.”

Tune in next time for Chapter three!  Please do let me know what you think.

Story Time!

So I wrote this little story (haha, "little," yeah right!), and so far it's a few chapters long.  It's dirty, and it's kinky, so I figured I'd post it here, chapter-by-chapter.

First installment!

JUST BECAUSE IT’S FIRST PERSON, DOESN’T MEAN IT’S ME (Chapter One)

I drive a lot.  I drive all over the state, and I’m never shy about seeing a new road or town.  And it’s not a small place.

I was on one of my usual roadtrips, looking for new places and maybe a better job market, this time exploring northwestern bits I’d never been to before.  I had a map, but I didn’t usually use it.  I didn’t usually know where I was except for a general idea until I asked gas station attendants, and it was the sort of area where even they couldn’t give you a straight answer without using the words “in between.”

At this particular moment in time I was “in between” Adrian and Vega, and just about all I could tell you was that I should have gone to the bathroom at the last gas station I’d seen.  It should have only been about another ten minutes, but the seat belt was doing cruel things to my bladder, so I finally decided to pull off and piss behind the car.

There wasn’t much traffic, so I didn’t worry too hard about anyone seeing me.  Besides, the idea of someone catching a glimpse was actually more exciting than anything else.  I pulled down my jeans to my knees, spread my feet, and leaned against the car in a creative pissing position my dear college buddy had deemed “the drunken hobo.”

A blaring honk from a truck without a trailer made me jump, and I lost my balance and stumbled, barely keeping out of my own puddle.  I tossed a finger at the truck as it blew past and pulled up my jeans.  I walked around to the drivers side and got in before I noticed the truck had pulled off, too a little ways ahead.  I thought for a second.

I could start the engine and speed off, ensuring my safety and a thoroughly uneventful roadtrip…or I could see what the muscular beast stepping down from his rig wanted.

Hey, I’m always up for meeting new people.

So I put my keys in the ignition, rolled down the driver’s side window halfway, and sat back to wait.  If he really had something to say, maybe the long walk to my car would help him get it in order.  In the meantime I studied him.  The closer he came, the nicer he looked.  Probably a good ten or fifteen years older than me, he looked to be in his thirties.  I brushed too-long bangs out of my eyes to get a better look.  That was long, dark hair coming out of his hat, about shoulder length.  A strong, bristled jaw, a muscled frame, blue jeans that had the sorts of tears and holes in them you get from playing hard.  Big black boots.  A black shirt with some kind of splashed, messy looking print that could only imply a metal band.

…Shit.  As much as I loved metal, I hadn’t had much luck with metalheads.  I’d put the percentage of loud music lovers that I knew who could also hold an intelligent conversation at around 10%.  Don’t judge, I told myself, he hasn’t even said hello yet.

Nor did he.  He reached the window, set his huge arms on top of the car, peered in and said “Well don’t you look feral.”

Feral.  Acceptable word.  +1 int.

I smiled and asked what he wanted.  I knew I looked his type, with my eyeliner on and my piercings in.  Maybe this would go better than bad.

“Thought I’d take you up on that offer.”  His voice was a low growl, an accent that wasn’t Texan coming through.  Those eyes were a cold, deep blue that almost wasn’t blue at all.  His breath smelled like Camels.

“What offer might that be?”  I asked, smirking up at him.  Ah, Pantera, that was his shirt.  It was a legitimate tour shirt, too.  Impressive.

“Be polite.  Say either yes Sir or no Sir.”

I blinked.  It was an intriguing offer.  Figuring that it wasn’t that hard to change my mind, and I didn’t give a shit about pissing off someone I’d never see again, I went with “Yes, Sir.”

He grinned a little, just at the corner of that hard mouth.  “Won’t you come in?”  He gestured back to his truck, and I opened the door and stepped out.  I had a long walk back to his giant, shiny-as-fuck rig to think about what I was doing, but all I could focus on was the smell of Camels.  I tried to make conversation, but he wasn’t very talkative.  We reached the door and he invited me into the back of the cab.  I paused for a second, but truthfully, it was all so exciting that there wasn’t a chance in hell of me turning around.

True to his clothing preference, his CD player was still blasting Pantera.  He turned it down and looked at me for a long time.  I returned the stare as long as I could, before finally looking at the bed.  It might have been respect, or it might have been an invitation to study other aspects of my own personal clothing preferences.

He reached up and snaked a thick finger through the O-ring on my collar.  “No tag, pussycat?”  I blushed, realizing the song playing at the moment was a cover of Cat Scratch Fever.  “No,” I replied quietly.

“You know what that thing means, right?”

“I know what it used to mean.  Now it’s meaning has changed.”

“Really.”

“Really.”

He studied me a second more, and finally I decided explanation was in order.  “It used to mean what you may or may not think it does.  Now I am my own Owner.”

“Ah.”  Finger still in the loop, he tugged me closer.  I had to scoot toward him to keep from falling forward.  “I’m glad, then, because otherwise this would probably be pissing Someone off, huh.”

“Dunno.  It’s not, though.”

His eyes got hard and he jerked the collar.  “I didn’t hear a ‘Sir.’”

“I mean no Sir, it…it actually, it’s fun.”  I was losing my edge, becoming that sloppy submissive.  I was letting a stranger push me around.  I felt ashamed, but I also felt the rush of excitement start to leak into my jeans.  What a stupid day to go commando – now I was going to have to wash these somewhere along the drive.

His finger left the collar and went instead to around my throat.  His hands were huge, and I felt secretly wonderful.  My eyes fell shut and I felt his other fingers circle my waist just under my top.  He pulled me closer to him and asked if I’d ever been properly dominated.

It broke the spell and this time it was my expression that got hard.  I told him sure, I’d been dominated.  It all sounds amazing until it happens, then you realize it’s just another way to say one-sided sex.  I said it was great to serve, but remembering it just reminds me why I own myself nowadays.  I said it isn’t like in the stories.  He didn’t let go of me, but he waited patiently while I turned my own mood sour.  I got quiet for a minute and sat there frustrated, my neck in the hands of a total stranger, feeling more and more hopeless about sex and relationships, and wishing with all my heart that I was on the road again.

It wasn’t until I decided to act on that impulse and tried to pull away that his grip tightened on both parts of me.  Something very wrong clicked in my mind and I lost it.  I couldn’t talk, couldn’t think, just struggled against that grip that wouldn’t let go.  Some part of my brain knew it wasn’t hurting me, just holding me, but that didn’t stop me from freaking out.  I elbowed and pushed, and got one of his hands off of my waist, only to have it pin both my arms against my sides and circle me even more completely.  I might have been crying, but I don’t remember anything else.  I got too worked up, and I’d gone and passed out.

Bad, right?  Eh, when you don’t have anything to lose, adventure is adventure is adventure.

Tune in next time for Chapter 2: "Sometimes 'No' Means 'If You Bite Me First'"

:D