Fuck, and once again, he meant it. He was the nicest rapist I'd ever known. And in there... I'd have to block all the time. A sexualized environment, a club that ran hot. In the mood I was in. With a cute guy that was doing his level best to be nice to me. I'd been a good girl -- mostly -- in the states, before Ink. Ink had been vile but there was no denying his manipulation had woken something in me, something sexual and dark... A club like the Galaxy would have been off my list before. Now it was wickedly appealing. Part of it was just my hormonal cycle talking, but part of it...
Girls, willingly doing some of what I'd been made to do. The touching, the... shit, that play Ink had forced on me in the subway. Handling cocks in secret, pressing up against guys, letting them look and want... that kind of thing, now that I could read, would be insanely intense. That would all be happening in there. Why is watching a girl slut out so hot? Girls know what I'm talking about. Is it because we're competing for the males, and the wilder they get, the wilder we need to be? Or is it because we all secretly want to run wild with our sexuality; we can't, that way pregnancy and disease and social failure lies; but we want to, and if she can, maybe I can...?
I shivered, thinking of the effect of a club like this on a guy like Peter. He said he only wanted to talk, and he believed it, but fifteen minutes in there and he'd be watching girls rub themselves against guys, and his eyes would turn to me in my "please notice how hot I am?" dress... and he'd be thinking with his cock. C'mon, this was Guy 101.
Guys, thinking with their cocks...
I shivered. What was that like? Having an erection, a lump of flesh gone hard, demanding attention? I mean, yes, I had nipples and a clit that could throb for attention too, but I had to be pretty ratcheted up to feel those sensations. Guys got an erection going after a brief look at a hot girl. And then it hung out there, stiff, whispering endlessly "we're supposed to be fucking now"... guys told me over and over they wished they had an off switch. Girls sometimes wished guys did too, but sometimes, weren't we just so secretly glad they didn't...? Peter, with a throbbing erection, and me leaning back in my formfitting gold dress, the cloth tight across my breasts, my hair poured down over one shoulder, feeling him burn, and knowing I could, at any time, switch it off for him... or on, so far on...
I looked at Peter.
"I... You swear that's your plan, and you won't deviate. Some no-touching dancing, tame drinks and conversation. That's all."
"I never said no-touching but... damnit, you're a tough one. Very well."
It was time to stop talking. We went in.
**
The place was wild. In some ways better than I'd feared and iin some ways much worse. Everyone was dressed hot. I was raised Asian, which means conservative, and places like this were outside my experience. Some of the girls were in little more than lingerie. The guys went to the other extreme, suits and ties. Things Ink had done to me, where I was naked or nearly so, and he was well dressed, instantly came to mind.
My outfit worked in here. Peter's didn't; he'd dressed too well for the pub scene but it didn't quite cut it in here. But it didn't matter. Girls looked at him and smiled. And for no reason that I can explain, that sent my jealousy off the charts. Guys checked me out, too, but mostly their eyes slid back to the girls in lingerie. Peter's eyes drifted too, and that was...
Infuriating.
We took a table. His eyes continued to drift. Mentally comparing me to what else was around.
Alright, so I was a bit naïve. I was used to being the girl guys noticed, what Peter and his English friends would call a Looker. But the girls who came here were past masters at getting the looks. Every one of them was Hotter Than Thou. Every one of them had spent heavily on the outfit and spent two hours on the makeup. It wasn't that they were better shaped than I was, some of them definitely weren't. But they were all practiced in the craft of physical attraction and I felt like Amateur Hour.
Peter's eyes raked a blond in a pushup bra, a thong, a bodystocking, and six inch heels. She was slightly tipsy and smiling. He smiled back, but then turned to me. I was his date, after all.
I slammed into his mind, ruthlessly.
"Hey, flirt boy," I whispered. "You haven't said anything about my dress."
I arched a bit, putting the shoulders back, and slowly licked my lips. And yanked his mental arousal switch, hard.
You know the look guys give you. It's when they stop seeing you as a person and look at you as a fucktoy. Every inch of you is suddenly about giving him pleasure and nothing is about you anymore. Depending on mood, this is either incredibly degrading or incredibly hot, sometimes a shamefully sexy mixture of both. His eyes raped me.
But I felt nothing. I smiled, coolly.
His erection was suddenly immense. Wow, did he have it where a girl likes to see it. This guy was a power tool for opening women.
The problem with arousing a guy is, once he's aroused, anyone will do. Hard cocks don't care who they hit. This is a topic I've given a lot of thought to. No matter how aroused a woman gets, she cares at least a little about which cock gets inside her. Evolutionary forces have made it this way. We all know, deep down, that sex can mean pregnancy and picking the right father matters. We can never be truly indiscriminate.
Guys live in a totally different world. If a pregnancy happens and they don't like the results, evolution has taught them to just pack up and move on, seeking a better outcome. If they leave a string of babies behind, that just means they have a larger genetic footprint, so in a way, they win. And if they find some ideal girl and baby to settle with, they also win. Guys are wired to try until they get what they want. And women are wired to try to be whatever ideal the man wants, so he'll stay.
This is why, very, very deep down, we girls all know that all guys are commitment-hating jerks. But we open our legs anyway to please them, which is why, very very deep down, guys know that all girls are sluts. All of gender politics arises from these two hardwired facts.
Peter was ready to fuck and in a target rich environment. His eyes wandered everywhere, and I could feel his visceral reaction to every curve, every smile, every hair toss around him. If you want to hate men, become a reader and find out how just utterly ingrained male prickishness is. They really are always reacting and responding to a hot female form. They really don't care about anything but the shape and the movement, as far as sexual desire is concerned. See girl, want fuck. That's ninety percent of male thought on the topic of relationships. We make do with the other ten percent, which is dedicated to affection, concern, caring, and a clumsy attempt at basic empathy. Unless there's a football or soccer match on, and then ten percent isn't available.
I slipped a foot out of my shoe, slid it up his leg and over his thigh, and proceeded to give him a cock massage where he sat. That got his eyes back to me.
There's nothing like being a reader and hooking into someone else's sexual arousal. It's more addictive than sex and chocolate combined. It's impossibly intense; and because everyone is wired just a little differently in this area, it's just alien enough to be fascinating. I can't decide if hooking into girl or a guy is hotter. Maybe guy. Thinking about sex is like watching a fireworks display. Having sex is like riding the firework up into the sky and being there when it explodes. But hooking in is like being the firework, over and over and over. I could feel every rush, every soaring burning need, as the arch of my foot worked his huge, rigid cock into a frenzy of hunger.
"What the fuck are you doing," he whispered. To his credit he didn't bother to look around to see who could see what I was doing -- and just about anyone could.
"I'm fucking with you, Peter," I murmured back, softly, staring into his eyes. "Strip away the makeup and the Alaïa dress designs and I'm as hot as anything in here. If you're going to want something it's going to be me."
"Now you're the psycho," he growled.
"Then take me by the ankle and make me stop," I purred. "C'mon, don't you like making girls do things? Make me behave."
The way I was pushing on his sexual response, there was no chance he was going to do that .I ramped it up a little, smiling. I could make him come -- but I wouldn't let it get quite that far. No one d oes edge play like a reader.
"Stop," he snarled.
I just smiled more, and licked my lips. "So you don't like making girls behave? Look at that brunette in the body stocking and miniskirt. She's very turned on -- any girl in here is, a place like this just makes us hot. Can't you imagine forcing her to the floor and ripping that bodystocking open and making her lift up her hips-"
And then something unexpected happened. From somewhere -- it felt like everywhere at once -- something arose in his mind. Anger and will, comingled.
His hand closed on my ankle and he moved my foot off his cock, effortlessly, and then twisted it, slowly and powerfully, making my joints ache. I yelped, and twisted to relieve the ache, but he kept my ankle turned, effectively pinning me sideways in my chair.
"Listen up, pretty." His voice was a hostile hiss. "I have an issue with being told what to think. I don't deny you're fucking good at that foot thing but you don't get to tell me who to look at and what to fantasize about. Let's be blunt, I like them submissive and that's what you are, at least I thought so until you pulled that shit. Now I fucking want to come and that's awkward for a first date, but it's your fault and I'm wondering what you plan to do about it."
"Didn't take long to get you there. Been awhile, has it?" I taunted. I was being brave here; I never figured he'd be able to push back on my influence like that, and I was feeling very little-girl inside all of a sudden. But he didn't have to know that.
He ignored the jibe. "I want a hand job."
"Sorry. First date."
"Didn't say I wanted it from you." He dropped the ankle, stood up, and walked towards the brunette.
I blinked. I mean holy fuck. That wasn't confidence, that was fucking arrogance, so far over the top that it went from sexy to ugly. Ok, I'd deserved to be dumped after what I'd pulled, and I'd just given myself the speech on how guys don't care which girl gets them off. But fuck! First of all he acted like he really thought he could walk over and get handled by some rando girl. Secondly he'd broken free from my manipulation, effortlessly. I was a bizarre mixture of fury, shock, a twisted curiosity, and bafflement.
I packed up to go but I did linger long enough to see how brunette dealt with him. So I got the freaking shock of my day -- and there had already been some good ones -- when she gave him a big smile and a warm hello; oh shit, they were friends. As he talked to her, her eyes moved to me and she smiled, and that was it, I'd had enough. She really would give him a hand job and I wasn't going to be around to see, hear or read any of that shit.
I was out the door before I stopped to wonder where they'd do it. It was a hot club but not a sex dungeon, and a hand job was not something the management would condone in the open in that place. Ok, yes, the guy's bathroom was traditional for the dirty hookup, but Peter didn't quite strike me as the type. He did have a little fucking class. Alleyway? Not much better than a bathroom. His car was blocks away, and he'd be wanting it Right Now. So how-
Hotel across the road. No. Fuck no. It was one thing for Peter to get a hand job and then go home, date ruined, haha, I'll kill you some other night. But if they walked across the street and got a room and spent time together...
I don't know where the jealousy came from. I had no fucking right. I was one hundred percent responsible for him hooking up with his slutty brunette friend and there was no way I should feel what I felt. But I was out of control with a storm of ugly emotions, and it even crossed my mind that if Peter died in the room with brunette-bitch nearby, she'd get the rap, which was ok with me. And this was all fucking Ink's fault, he'd done this to me, made me this dark person with impossible desires, and then fucking Windy had enabled my ability to put rage into practice, this was none of my fault.
Being in a shiny, sparkly gold dress didn't make me inconspicuous and there are limits to how many people I can hide myself from. I did my best to lean against a building and just not be too noticeable, and waited to see if Peter would come out.
He did, with brunette in tow, and they walked straight for the hotel. Shit! Peter obviously had money, the hotel tab wouldn't faze him. And she was too fucking pretty, the sort that looks too innocent to know what guys want, but really knows it very well. She was going to make him come, and...
Fuck this shit! I headed for the hotel, without a plan, just a desire to hurt.
++
I watched as they got a room, and then walked up to the clerk. For her I put blonde hair on, and an even more provocative dark blue dress. I've never known an Asian girl with blonde hair who wasn't a brainless sex toy -- look, it's true, ok? -- and she'd instantly categorize me as either whore or slut, and hence someone to get away from her desk as fast as possible.
"Hi!" I said in a slightly slurred and too happy voice. Alcohol and ecstasy, that was me. "My cell phone died. I'm supposed to be with the two that just- just left" -- giggle -- "and I'm, like, which room is it?"
"There's a courtesy phone over there," she pointed. She really didn't like me. I didn't blame her. "You can call them."
"Oh, haha" (yes, I actually said ha-ha) "I don't know his number it's on the phone but the phone is like not working. Look, Peter is expecting me and I'm late and just like I want to find him and- and- yeah I just need the room number kay?"
But she wasn't supposed to give that out. "I will leave him a message for you. Name?"
"Susie." Giggle. "Hey, you're kind of cute."
That was enough to get her to look down at her phone and pretend I wasn't there. She punched in a call to his room, which of course involved dialing the room number.
And then she was suddenly very, very dizzy. I reached over and hung up the call and then slammed into her with more vertigo, and confusion, and an overload of nameless fear. She staggered and collapsed in a faint. Bad me.
I shrieked convincingly and bolted for the elevators in obvious terror. I tried to push blonde into the mind of the porter and doorman as they ran to the clerk; maybe it worked, I didn't stay to check. Room 328.
When I got into the elevator I realized to my horror that it had one of those fucking key card slots; but I calmed myself down and read the instructions; the card was only needed for the top ten floors, and Peter hadn't paid that much. Ten seconds later I was on the 3rd floor and searching for 28.
No one in the hallways. I found a food tray on the floor and a cleanish glass, and placed it carefully against the door to 328. Being a murderer, I wasn't exactly above eavesdropping.
"Oh, baby," Peter said. "I owe you one."
Laughter. "Oh Petey."
"No you don't. Peter."
"Didn't think that would slide by. Oh, Peter. You date girls you just find lying around and of course you're going to hit the occasional psychobitch. And isn't Maria good enough for you?"
"Still keeping track of my dating, babe? Maria's fine. This new girl just... I don't know, caught at my attention. She seemed special."
"Yeah, I caught that little massage she gave you. On the first date. I'd call that special."
"Heh. It was unbelievably hot, actually. It was hard to make her stop. But seriously, shit like that..."
"I could see how it pissed you off."
"Do you blame me? I mean, shit, manipulative as hell. Ok, so I picked a loser. Anyway, it was worth renting a room just to catch up with you, and I hope she saw us come in here. Let her think I'm getting a hand job. That should fuck up her evening."
I almost dropped the glass.
"Oh... so you don't think there's going to be an actual hand job?"
I almost dropped it again.
"Elena... babe... you know I didn't ask you for real."
I heard footsteps. She was walking towards him.
"Peter, babe... You and I have always... danced around the edges. But I like your game and this stunt you pulled to get back at your date... kinda hot, you know? Lean back. This isn't going to mean anything more than what it is, but I'm not going to tell Mark and I don't think you're going to tell Maria... Fuck, you're immense. And so hard. Now I'm not going to use my mouth, but... I know you're into that domination stuff and I'm curious, you know? If you can respect my limits and leave my panties on, I'm willing to... be a good girl for you. But are you going to be ok with limits?"
"You should have asked that before you put your hand there. You have no idea how fucking turned on I am, but... shit... ok. Your panties stay on and your mouth isn't going to taste cock."
"Or anything else. No kissing. I reserve kissing for my guys, and this is just... fuck you're BIG. I'd heard the rumors, but wow. I'm just going to unzip you-"
"No."
"No?"
"You want to know about submission. You're going to submit as of now. I'll tell you when it's ok to go further."
Rage. Unbelievable rage. All he had to do was ask girls to submit and they did. And he'd forced a girl? He'd fucking forced a girl.
An image of red rain, falling...
What had I just done? I'd forced him to feel things. But that wasn't rape. And he'd liked it, until his pride had gotten in the way. Not the same.
"What do you want me to do?"
"Are you going to obey, unconditionally, within your limits?"
A pause. And then a barely audible, shy "Yes."
"Stand up, hands at your sides."
"Ok. Um, what -- Peter, my skirt!"
"You look better without it." A pause. "You're shivering. Why?"
"I -- uh -- look, I'm not a prude, ok? You know that. But... but somehow a bodystocking and a skirt is very different than just a bodystocking..."
A few moments of silence, and then she moaned, softly. I read her. He was touching her and she was going wild inside, but that's all I knew. Where was he touching her? Was he pressing his cock against her? Fuck, she was suddenly burning.
"This -- I- Peter, I'm ready you give you a hand job now, trust me. I want to."
"I know you do, but I want you to want more than that."
"Hey, our agreement!"
"I didn't say I was going to make you do more than that. But I'm going to make you want to. You're going to learn to want to please me. The hand job is only how the evening ends. You can please me in other ways. Mmm, Elena, such hard nipples. How rough do they like it?"
"Mmm... m'ahhh... ahh.. Peter, stop. Peter, I can't think, slow down, fuck, no, don't lick my ear! Fuck, let me move, I can't stand up when you do that!"
"You must."
"Fuck, stop, what was I thinking-"
A sudden slapping noise and a yelp. I could empathetically feel the sting of it, and I could read how she suddenly ached to yield to his demands. So hot! What is it about being spanked? It means the guy is serious and play time is over and now you have to be an obedient little girl or you'll be spanked again. When Ink was done with me it had just taken one good slap on the ass and I was trembling. And wet.
"Don't tell me to stop. You'll take what I give, within your limits."
"I -- I didn't - I didn't set enough limits-"
"You set the one that mattered. But I'm going to be ruthless with everything else... for example, you said you wouldn't kiss me; you didn't say I couldn't kiss you."
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