One Night, One More Time

One of his fondest, most humiliating memories bears a lot of similarities with what I did to him in the car and just now. But I had other reasons, too. One reason, which I won't share with him: he once told me that he couldn't last very long inside of a woman. He had also confessed once that he didn't have very much experience--more lovers than I'd had, overall, but had never been with anyone for any long stretches of time. He'd never had a chance to get used to sex, to take it for granted. I'd decided there was a connection between his lack of experience and his stamina. He had never had the chance to just get fucked out and learn the kind of control he craves. The moment in the car had been my attempt to make sure our next interaction lasts a while. But I won't tell him this, because it seems like that would move past humiliation, into cruelty.

He shudders, but stops pulling away from me.

"Was it humiliating?" I ask.

He's silent.

"Were you humiliated because I didn't come," I ask flatly. "Because, that'd be a failure of your masculine power, wouldn't it?" I'm surprised at my ability to pursue this subject. I know he's mentally squirming. I didn't know I had any capacity towards sadism, even emotional sadism. I'm a little impressed with myself. "You came before I even had a chance to think about it--so very ungentlemanlike--"

"YOU TOLD ME TO USE YOU," he grinds out, and he flips me onto my back, pinning my wrists with his strong hands, and he's kissing me intensely, sliding his knee between my knees and leveraging them apart. He hadn't taken any clothes off before he got into bed, but I'm still naked from the waist down, and when he sinks his hips between my thighs, the rough denim and the buttons scrape my tender flesh, and it's so erotic, almost as erotic as his sudden loss of control here. I buck against him, not sure if I'm trying to dislodge him or to grind my cunt against him; he obviously decides it's the latter, because he's humping me now.

And it's good. The fly of his jeans is rubbing against my clit, and it doesn't take long, the rhythm is good and the friction is just right, and I'm clinging to him and crying, "I'm coming, oh, fuck, Geoff, I'm coming!"--and I am. My pussy clenches on itself, and I shake with the spasms, holding him to me with my fingers and my legs.

It seems like a long moment before he realizes what I've said, or maybe he realizes perfectly well, but he does bring himself to a stop, and I think it's probably before he comes in his pants.

"Christ, Sandra," he mutters, and slides off of me. "What are you doing to me?"

A little dizzy and disoriented, I wonder the same thing.

After a moment, he pulls me next to his body, and then, without discussing it, begins to unbutton my shirt. He slides a hand inside my bra to cradle my breast, thumbing the nipple to attention. Since I've just come, I'm super sensitive, and cry out a little.

"There'll be no more of that, by the way," he says.

I'm a little blurry with the aftermath of my pleasure. "No more of what?"

"You trying to dominate me."

But I wasn't trying, I want to say, but I don't, because in some way, that'd be like asserting my dominance. It'd be like saying, yeah, I can rule you without even trying. I know that's the kind of woman he usually ends up with, the kind that he feels shameful for liking--like he's less of a man if the woman controls the bedroom.

I tried to tell him once that I thought that a man who was only submissive in bed made perfect sense to me. It's hard to be in control and in power all the time. Sex is one of those times when the world turns upside down, when the regular becomes irregular, and maybe it's just nice for a guy to not have to make a decision, to just follow directions.

Hell, I'm a spitfire feminist in my regular life, but there's nothing I crave more than to be dominated in the bedroom. And I think, yeah, it's because I'm just so damned tired of being the captain of my own fate sometimes. I don't tell other feminists that, ever. They might kick me out of the club. And I've never laid it out for any of my lovers, either; it just seems too much to admit to. But I have told Geoff this, thinking he might understand. And yeah, he gets it. And he gets why I think men who enjoy cuckoldry aren't wimps. But then, he doesn't get why cock size doesn't matter to me any more than breast size matters to him, so we aren't always on the same wavelength.

Anyway. He was telling me that I wasn't to dominate him anymore. I pitch my voice higher, but subtly, so he doesn't think I'm mocking him. "Yes, Sir," I say, and to prove my good faith, I raise myself a little and push my breast into his hand more firmly.

Immediately, he grips my breast tighter, pulling the bra cup down to spill it out, kneading it slightly, and before I know it, he's cradled between my thighs and lying across me with his head buried in my chest, sucking my nipples until they must be turning purple and I'm almost screaming at the intensity. And fuck if I don't want him again, fuck if my cunt isn't aching again, like we never fucked in the car, like I didn't just come.

But he's not going there yet. He looks up at me with his mouth still pulling on one nipple, releasing it just long enough to say, "Oh? Are you ready again?"

"Yes," I hiss through gritted teeth.

"Good." He pushes himself off of me. "Get dressed. We're going out."

#

When I am in the bathroom changing into the one going-out outfit I brought (it's a bit conservative for a big city, and totally betrays my origins; I will not be very fashionable, but I'm okay with that), he changes as well.

He's in a goddamned suit when I come out, and he's very sharp. Most men look better in suits, but some men just look fantastic in them, and he's the latter. It's a modern, sleek cut, and appropriate to going out to a great restaurant or a really chic club. I'm definitely underdressed, with my flippy black skirt and vaguely shimmery ruby top. I should have a dress to go with that suit. At least my shoes are good. I spent far too much money on them, of course.

I take one look at him and undo another button on my top. He raises an eyebrow, a beautifully expressive gesture that endears him to me. "You've outdone me, sartorially," I say. "So, a little more cleavage and maybe it will matter less."

He goes a little red at that, and that's when I remember that this is the same Geoff who hasn't had very much sex in his life, who feels humiliated at almost every turn. The suit, the eyebrow, the commanding way he told me to get dressed--for a moment, I'd assigned another personality to him, a personality more like Ty's, but no, Geoff is Geoff, and I need to remember that, or I'll step wrong.

"'Sartorially,'" he says, offering me his hand. "Quite the vocabulary on you."

"It offsets my not-infrequent use of 'cunt,' I find," I say. He goes a little redder. This is sort of fun. I have always liked shy men.

He drives. His car is fast and sleek, not unlike his suit, and seems to be his only luxury. I've never been a car girl, but somehow the vehicle fits with the day, the whole experience, and I find myself coveting the car a little. A lot, really. Strange how your perceptions change with travel, with newness...

We end up at a chi-chi jazz club. We order drinks, and sit quietly, listening to the music, until eventually he slides closer to me and puts an arm around my waist. He ducks his head, speaking directly into my ear: "Turnabout is fair play."

"Hm?"

"Come with me." He stands up, holds out his hand to me. I take it, letting him pull me to my feet, and follow him across the club, confused but relaxed and amiable thanks to the mellowness of the music, the mellowness of the wine...

When we end up outside the men's room, I come to a stop and try to pull my hand out of his.

"Nope, we're going in there," he says, and with one arm around me, scoops me along into the restroom.

I gasp. "What? No. I can't." I'm relieved when I realize the men's room is empty.

"You can. You will. I want you, Sandra." He kisses me, melding me against his body, his raging erection presses into my stomach.

I think maybe I've had a little too much wine, because I'm not saying no when he lifts me to the counter, kissing me and unbuttoning my shirt, sliding it down my arms and tossing it in the corner of the counter. The bra comes off next. My skirt he simply flips up, bunching it around my waist, though his facade crumbles a bit when he finds I'm not wearing any underwear: his face flushes and he grunts something unintelligible. It's so primal, so excited, that it makes me excited, and I feel the flesh that had settled to background throbbing awaken to life between my legs. My cunt literally aches.

He fumbles at his fly for a moment and then he's inside of me. It happens that fast. I have a brief moment to think it's good that I've shaved off my pubic hair, because the zipper in his pants could so easily catch and pull it if I did, and then he's nosed his cock all the way into me, meeting no resistance. I'm wet and ready.

He rocks against me, slicking in and out while the counter edge bites into the lower part of my ass. My legs stick straight out past him while my toes curl and stretch and curl again. My Jimmy Choos fall off, and the next thing I notice is the way my voice echoes against the surfaces and walls.

I am panting, calling out, losing my mind. I don't know what I've said, if it's filthy or romantic or if I even have remembered Geoff's name and called Ty's instead, but whatever I've said it doesn't seem to hinder Geoff at all. He's just pushing in and pulling out, his face a study in concentration, and for a moment, I wish I could feel what he feels, but then I'm too busy feeling what I feel. My cunt doesn't ache anymore, but it very nearly itches, and Geoff's cock is scratching that itch, and it's so good that I'm whining a little, high in my throat, almost through my nose. When I notice, I stop, but it's too late for dignity or studied sexiness.

Through all of this, I'm aware of how exposed I am, how naked I am--the strip of skirt around my waist briefly gave me a sense of being covered, but it's a lie, and it's so clear to me that I am being fucked on a men's room counter, and that the man fucking me is fully dressed and in total control over me.

And there's a squeal from somewhere--at first I think it's me--but no, it's the squeaky restroom door opening. I go silent and stop writhing against Geoff, but he seems oblivious, just uses my sudden lack of motion to establish a new rhythm for fucking me. He's looking down between us, at our joined flesh, at the way my cunt's lips pull at his cock when he withdraws, at the way his cock is shining with our mingled juices.

A man comes in, nicely dressed like the rest of the clientele at this establishment, and his step falters, but he keeps coming, looking directly into my eyes at one point, and I go red--all over my body, I can feel the heat of this blush. He's watching us, watching me, looking at my breasts, looking at me being fucked, and he walks right up to the urinal that is next to the counter, unzips his fly and takes out his cock and lets loose his stream. Crimson, horrified, appalled--I bury my face in Geoff's shoulder, and still he thrusts into me, like he doesn't care.

But he does care, for he lowers his mouth to my ear and whispers, "You once told me you thought there was nothing sexier than a fully-dressed man taking a naked woman, that it was totally degrading for the woman."

Yes, I'd told him that. And it is degrading, no question there. The mere thought of that fantasy come to life sends a hot flush through me again and suddenly I don't care about the man at the urinal as much, and I push against Geoff, straining against his body to get any contact from his pubis against my swollen clit, and it's hard to get enough contact, but God, I have to try--I spread my legs wider, arch my back more, and imagine my little clit reaching out for him, and it's enough--almost enough--almost enough--I come in an explosion of breath, groaning out a long "Ahhhh" that I can no more control than I can this situation.

Geoff gives a couple of animalistic grunts then, and scoops me up by my ass cheeks, tilting my pelvis to get deeper inside of me, and throwing me off balance so that my head knocks against the mirror--he now has the contact with my clit that I had so craved a moment ago, but now I'm so sensitized that it's too much. He saws into me in short, sharp jerks, coming with a bellow of relief, while I shriek through my teeth at the second orgasm that this new position forces on me. At least, I think it's an orgasm. It's not like any orgasm I've ever had, seeming completely out of my control, and it's not entirely pleasurable.

I slump against the mirror, and Geoff slumps against me. At the urinal, I hear a small moan, then a flush and a zipper going up. The door squeaks, and our observer is gone. God. Did he just jerk off to us?

"We're so going to get kicked out of this club," I say. Geoff pulls back from me and zips up his fly. I stare at the cunt stain on the front of his pants, and it's only when I think I hear footsteps outside that I grab my shirt and bra, slide off the counter and run into a bathroom stall. Geoff hands in my shoes after a moment, and I am balancing on a toilet seat and trying in vain to clean myself off.

When I come out, he asks, "Ready?" And we walk from the club to his car, and he heads us towards his house.

In the car, I say, "That was... well."

"Well?"

"I don't think I'm cut out for sex in public."

The passing streetlights reveal his secret grin.

"That's more your thing, isn't it? More yours than mine."

"I admit to an exhibitionist streak," he says. "I also like to watch."

"Criminy."

"You were beautiful," he tells me. "Still are. Humiliation becomes you."

"Yeah," I say, and suddenly, I'm crying.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Geoff says, alarmed, and pulls off the street into an empty fast-food parking lot. "What's going on? Why are you crying?"

"I'm sorry," I say. "It doesn't mean anything. Sometimes I cry after really good orgasms."

Of course, when I look up, he's not looking horrified or alarmed anymore, he's looking self-satisfied in the orange parking lot lights. "I made you come," he says, when I give him a look.

"Twice," I say, and the tears are already gone and my voice is already lighter.

He's quiet for a moment, and that moment of male satisfaction is gone again, and he's back to horrified. "I don't understand, we were just fucking in the bathroom a minute ago and now you're crying..."

"Seriously, it's no big deal," I said. "It's just... a release from tension. Just like sex." He looks dubious. I relent. "Look. It's about the humiliation, I think... emotional pain turns me on, okay? I'm an emotional masochist. And like, well, an orgasm is one thing, but the tears are part of it, too. It's like an orgasm for the humiliation."

"I don't mean to be rude, but. I don't get it."

I lean against the headrest and close my eyes. "Look. Keep driving and I'll explain it to you."

He's reluctant to do so, but he does. While he drives, I tell him about Ty, and how Ty cheated on me in a threesome with an ex-girlfriend and my ex-boyfriend. Yeah--complicated, no? I think, basically, when Ty broke up with Liz and started dating me, she wanted to prove she wasn't second-best, somehow. I think that's why she went after my ex-boyfriend in the first place. I don't know. She was weird. But we all spent time together, went out together on couple dates.

"At some point, Liz asked Ty to convince me that we should all have group sex," I say. "I refused. I wasn't attracted to them. I didn't really like her, anyway. My ex? Jon? He was all right, but there was a reason I broke up with him, and that reason was that the sex was awful.

"Anyway, I knew Liz just wanted Ty back, though, knew that was the root of everything. I hated that Ty had bought into the lie that you need to be friends with your exes in order to be a good guy. We really shouldn't have had her in our lives.

"Anyway, when I refused, they worked on Ty, and without my knowledge, they all had sex without me. I was devastated when I figured it out.

"Absolutely devastated.

"I don't know to this day why I didn't leave Ty, other than I still loved him so much. And, yeah, I was a little scared that I didn't have enough money to strike out on my own, but that wasn't enough of a reason.

"I did establish that I was never going to talk to Liz and Jon again, and that if Ty wanted me to stay, he couldn't either. And we had to go to therapy: together and singly.

"Three years later, we finally had things together enough to consider getting married, but man. It took a lot of work. Part of that work was shutting down a lot of my sexual thoughts. Sex between Ty and me was fine. But somehow, certain aspects of my sexuality just repulsed me. Brought up all the feelings of violation that being cheated on created.

"I don't know what to say beyond that, but let's put it this way: there was a single thing that happened in my sex life that I wasn't even present for that made me a wreck for many years. And you know what the worst part was?

"The worst part--the absolute worst part--was that I still wanted Ty. In fact, I couldn't get enough of him. Sexually.

"The night I figured things out, I didn't sleep--every time I drifted off, I woke up crying. He was going to go sleep on the couch because he figured I didn't want him around, but I so needed to be held, I couldn't think of sleeping alone. At some point, I woke up crying, and I made him kiss me. I figured if I were repulsed, I could leave him just fine. But I wasn't repulsed. It was one of the most passionate kisses of my life. I don't know if he was pouring everything into it to try to keep me or if there was something else to it.

"The next night, we had sex. I should say, fucked. Because it was not loving on my part, for sure. But I came so easily. Like my body didn't care what had happened, hadn't been informed that we were broken, that we shouldn't want him. Right with the orgasm, I started crying. I couldn't stop."

Geoff is silent on the other side of the car, and I think, Wow, that's the end of this, then. But instead he says, "You were ashamed of still wanting him?"

"Yes."

"And humiliated by the cheating."

"Extremely. I kept imagining the three of them getting together, and in the middle, laughing at me..."

"For what?"

"For who knows what! For not being cool enough or sexy enough or whatever to join them? And part of me thought I must be so unattractive for Ty to be so into it with them."

"It was a blow," Geoff suggests.

"A huge blow."

"Did you ever desire to be humiliated before this event?"

"Maybe a little, but not to any degree like now."

"Do you think there's a link?"

I am saddened by this whole conversation, and it's hard to keep talking. I say, "I think the thing is, I felt humiliated by Ty cheating on me, and I felt humiliated that I still wanted him after he cheated on me, and now that I'm thinking about it that way, I think if I can ever just feel humiliated enough, I'll get over it all completely. Maybe."

"Like, burn it out of your system?"

"Yeah."

He's silent for a moment. "I can't say I know exactly what you feel. Betrayal is... Well, anywya, I understand some of it. But I think, for me, I can honestly say, there's no 'humiliated enough.' For me, sex and humiliation have just become so linked, that there's no turning back from it now."

I don't really want to think that, but I know it's true. There is no 'humiliated enough.' God, no. I could, if I tried, come right now with just my thighs clamped together, thinking about Geoff taking me in the men's room, me naked and him clothed, while some stranger watched.