I don't own Twilight. Or anything for that matter.
There will be spanking. I warned you. No complaints, pretty please.
Bella
October 1st 2011
For the first time in a couple of weeks, I leave the small town I live in to go to the city. It's a one hour train ride that I spend looking forward to meeting my best friend. I'm giddy. We're invited to a birthday party a good friend of ours is throwing. I don't go out very often. I'm a loner in fact. Especially since my best friend lives five hours away from the city, and I don't get to see her as much as I would like. I don't click with many people to be honest. But this weekend, we decide to have fun. Then again, we always have when we're together. But even though she is one of the few people closest to my heart, there are things about me that I can't bring myself to tell her.
She's sweet and pure, responsible and a bundle of energy.
Whereas I... am not.
She knows all about my annoying habits, my depression and my many sexual conquests that always end in disaster. She knows me inside and out, except for one single thing: my deepest, darkest desire.
In her presence, I feel tainted.
This party is lame. It really is. We spent hours getting all dolled up, drinking a bottle of wine in the process. I was buzzed and happy, and now I'm annoyed to my core– surrounded by drunk boys winking at me as if they had a seizure. Though most of the guests in this club are probably in their early twenties, I feel ancient besides them with my twenty-nine years – utterly out of place. My best friend is having a blast. I don't know how she does it. The guys are childish and kind of rude. So much that it makes me want to slap them into silence. I do what I always do in situations like these: I drink some more and retreat into my own head, watching the people around me having fun as I silently let my own fantasies play like a movie in my head. It's a movie of the xxx persuasion. Just to be clear.
A few drinks later, my friend drags me outside to have a smoke. And I go willingly. My buzzed ass could use a cigarette and some fresh air, and quite frankly, I'm sick of the douches attending this party. I'm just too old for beer pong and crappy music and an awkward grope to my ass followed by an overused pick-up line.
Opening the back door, it is then that I see you – in all your stylish yet rugged attire.
We all know you. Well, my friends do – I just know of you. Though I've seen you occasionally at parties, we've never spoken a word to each other. There was no need. You're running in the in-crowd, while I'm just running scared. Tonight is different. Tonight, something about you draws me in, makes me really notice you, makes me want to sit next to you on that bench and smoke, when usually I walk past you. Your penetrating gaze always made me uncomfortable. I guess you're about my age, maybe a few years older. You just give off that vibe: mature, but still silly at times. You, too, are watching what goes on around you, quietly contemplating. Then your eyes fall on me. We watch each other. Wary. From head to toe, you check me out. Possibly making assumptions. When my best friend takes a seat to your left – ultimately breaking the ice – I take a seat to your right. You smell so good it makes me dizzy or maybe it's the three Cuba Libres I've practically inhaled in the past half hour. I like sitting next to you either way.
Just as I'm about to reach out a finger and sneakily touch that soft looking grey T-shirt you're wearing, the mood changes. I don't know how or why, but your happy chatter with my best friend switches to things that make my ears perk up. And funny that it's my sweet, pure Alice that changes the polite questions like "how are you?" and "what have you been up to lately?" to a completely different topic. A topic so foreign to me and so much desired at the same time it makes my heart race. Apparently Alice wants to go to a well-known fetish club here in the city. Who would have thought? I guess there are things I didn't know about her, either. I'm certainly stunned, but it's your reaction that interests me the most for some reason and why you're being so quiet all of a sudden, watching me like I have grown two heads, when it wasn't even my suggestion. Your playful smile is gone as you look at her and then at me intently. Seconds or even minutes pass in silence and then you tell Alice or me or maybe us both in a cold voice: that's not your scene. Period. Just like that the topic is dismissed. It's like a slap to the face at first – rejection – and then things start to click in my head. You've given me a few puzzle pieces about you. Not much, but enough to let me know you've been to that club. Enough to let me hope that maybe, just maybe, you are into these things. It can't be a coincidence that I'm sitting here right now next to you discussing a fetish club, can it? Maybe faith is throwing me a bone, so I decide to be bold. For once in my life, I dare to take a step forward and tell you that you can't be sure about it not being our scene. Don't judge a book by its cover and all that crap. My friend – with her attention span of a fly – is bored with the topic already and heads back inside. I stay rooted next to you, firmly, staring into your eyes, trying desperately to give you a sign without having to say things out loud. But that's not how things work with you. It seems like I somehow caught your attention, and you start asking me things. Have you ever been there? Do you want to go there? Are you sure about that? Your voice is hypnotizing.
It's now or never. Two years of fantasizing and yearning have to be enough to make me want to turn them into reality, no? So I find myself confiding in you – a stranger for all intents and purposes – telling you how I have dreamed about being dominated for quite a while now, but that I lack any experience in that field. I just want to make sure, you know? See if it's all just in my head... God bless Cuba Libre for making me feel so bold. I tell you about my Fetlife account, where I talk to people in the scene every now and then, and you look at me like I've completely lost my mind. I probably have. You chastise me for seeking out men over the internet. Yeah... As if I would actually do such a thing, but I guess you don't know me that well. Obviously. I'm just glad I found someone in real life to talk to about these things.
In my buzzed state, I don't think any of it as you ask me over and over again if I would trust you – pointing out that all my friends know you. I don't get the meaning of your words, but I nod my head anyway. You're intoxicating, sitting so close to me. And when you ask me for the fifteenth time if I'm really sure I want to try this, I kind of scream in your face Yes. Yes. Yes. My patience is wearing thin. I want to talk some more about it, in depth and maybe get to finally run my fingers through your messy hair.
So when you want me to take a walk with you, I am all eager. Finally we're going to talk about my desires without all those nosy people around us staring. There will be no beer pong, no awkward gropes, just a serious talk between two adults.
And boy, am I wrong.
It's just a short walk. Or that's what it feels like to me, since I'm vibrating with energy and don't pay much attention to my surroundings. That is until you lead me to a tiny park, here in the middle of the city. Just a few steps away from the party. We're separated from the rest of the world by only some bushes. I can hear the traffic nearby, people laughing, talking, partying. Someone is peeing into the bushes, but it's all just a blur to me.
If that's where you want to talk some more, who am I to argue? It doesn't even occur to me as to what you really have in mind, until your voice rings out to me. Gone is the playful tone from earlier. It's so much deeper now and commanding. Alluring. Short, direct sentences. No room for arguments as you tell me to face a tree and brace my hands against it. Okay, then. On unsteady feet, I move, not really thinking twice about my actions. Am I startled? A bit, yes, but I don't question you. When you tell me to arch my back and push my ass out, I do just that. My head feels fuzzy. My actions are shy and tentative. But when I feel the adrenaline rush into my system, my brain shuts off and I obey. I feel your hands on my backside; your warmth seeping through my clothes. Your fingers push my dress up, yank my tights down along with my panties. I feel the chilly air on my butt. It gives me goose bumps and my breathing picks up. You tell me I have a gorgeous body. But you don't leave me much time to appreciate the compliment. There's a smack to be heard and a millisecond later it registers in my brain or rather on my ass, that your hand just landed on my bare behind. Quite hard. It stings. I moan and that's not a conscious decision. Over and over again you slap me, barely leaving me time to catch my breath. All I can do is feel the sting, feel my skin heating up and I try to wrap my head around all of this. It's not until you tell me to be quiet that I become aware of just how loudly I'm moaning. In the middle of a park. Outside. For everyone to hear. Huh. Interesting. Then I feel your hand between my legs. Rubbing me. I hear the wetness that gathered there as your fingers slide through my folds. Interesting. You wrestle your hands underneath my dress. Up, up, up until you reach my breasts. There's tugging on my nipples and it hurts. I moan. Your touch is anything but soft, nevertheless it's skilled. You know exactly where to touch, you know exactly how hard to squeeze. I can't help it; I moan.
Turn around. On your knees, you say. And I find myself before you on my knees just a second after that command left our mouth. Looking at your feet, I see your jeans pooling there. When did you get them off? Up, up, up my eyes wander until I see your cock. Erect and oh so beautiful. Suck, you tell me. My mouth engulfs you. Warm and hard meets soft and wet. You're big. I gag. You turn me around to my previous position. My brain can't keep up, but I arch my back anyway when you tell me so. There's rustling and seconds later you slide into me. You feel so, so good. I feel good, I feel free. You slap my ass some more and it hurts, hurts, hurts. So good. While you pound into me from behind and slap my ass at the same time, I feel my orgasm approaching hard and fast. It's unlike something I've ever felt before. And geez, your hand must hurt my now. It's too much. It's not enough. Tears well up in my eyes. It hurts, it feels too good, it hurts, I tell you to stop. I find myself in your strong arms immediately, sobbing into your shirt, feeling utterly glorious at the same time. You hug me for a long time and it makes me smile. I tremble. You squeeze me even tighter.
When we part you hug me again, tell me to look you up on Facebook.
It's what I do first thing the next morning. I thank you. For making a fantasy come true, I don't tell you that, though. You ask me for a repeat performance.
Somehow the sun shines brighter today.
And I know I am hooked.
My ass is on fire, but I am hooked.