Control Ch. 01

Michele stepped into the shower, turning the faucet to full, and steaming hot. She always showered after a date, reveling in the heat and the stinging spray, sluicing off the smell and the taste of them. Feeling the pounding heat wash away their grasping fingers and slamming, bruising thrusts. Animals, most of them.

She felt her contempt rise like bile in her throat when she reflected on their eyes, lighting on her the first time. For the most part, the expression was of incredulous imbecility, these slobs not believing their luck when they realized that yes; this one was going to put out without hesitation. Yes this gorgeous little blond was going to suck their cock. Yes! They were going to get laid!

Contempt for the men - or herself? Michele lathered up her washcloth and began to scrub, top to bottom, as she always did. She didn't understand why she felt compelled to go out every night, sometimes twice, pick up some anonymous joe, disarm him with mysterious grey/blue eyes, put him off balance with her perfectly proportioned curves, and blow him away with a breath and a filthy promise in his ear. She worked over her face with the cloth, first her mouth, wiping away slobbering, loose-lipped mauling and the taste of unwashed meat.

Was it the power? She could walk into any bar she knew and within 10 minutes he would have anyone she wanted drooling to her smoky, come-fuck-me, come-hither gaze. Then behind her ears, and down her neck. In twenty they would be on their way to his place. She scoured her shoulders, under her arms, and her torso, cleaning off sweat and semen. In thirty she would be miles away, disconnected from the by-then faceless, graceless, mindlessly fucking animal that they became.

Lathering the cloth again, she took extra care in her erasure of all traces of the night's conquest, rubbing her mound systematically, across the top and down each side. She didn't care about them, they didn't care about her. She slipped soap slick fingers between her legs and carefully washed each lip, rinsing, then farther inside as to wipe out as much as she could.

Michele, finished with her cleansing, reached up, leaning against the shower wall, letting the hot spray wash over her. A search, she told herself that was it. One day she would find the one that would touch her, make her feel, make her want, need the act that she now endured instead of enjoyed. She pressed the plug in the tub with her toe and adjusted the showerhead, lying down in the tub. The spray beat against her abdomen, drumming heat, arousing her. Not like this one tonight, she thought.

She had seen him the moment she walked in to the hotel he was alone, at the end of the bar. Strolling over, she had arranged herself artfully on the empty stool facing him. The pounding spray from the shower echoed the warmth that had flushed though Michele as his eyes scanned her - slowly, from her patent leather pumps, up her lightly muscled legs, stopping mid-torso, as they all did, staring at her plump, perky breasts. He had bought the drinks, he already had a room. Michele's legs spread, letting the water beat against her clit, arousing her.

Inside the elevator, her excitement had grown as he ground against her, frantic in his eagerness. It was their desire she fed on, their need. Coolly she had stood there, allowing him to fondle her, but not responding, making him try harder. She knew what he wanted and he was going to get it, but it would be on her terms. Michele pulled up her legs, bending them, knees falling to the side of the tub, opening more of herself to the spray.

She wanted them want her, to need her. It made her use of them so much sweeter, when they imagined their reactions, realizing they had been given the wrong number, and that they would never see her again.

Tonight's date had been fawning, affectionate even, and she could almost believe he actually cared about her pleasure. Michele stroked the insides of her thighs, as he had, removing her shoes and stockings as ordered. After removing her skirt, he would have stayed on his knees as long as she asked, licking and sucking on her clean-shaven pussy. This had been pleasant, and Michele started rubbing her clit gently, in circles, thinking of how he might have made her come, if she had let him. But she had quickly grown bored with his one-stroke technique and pushed him away, directing him to strip, then to lay back on the bed.

He'd jumped up and hit her breast with his head, she had laughed at his clumsiness. In the tub, Michele rubbed her clit harder now, panting as the water beat down and the heated steam stole her breath. She had played with him mercilessly, her mouth on his cock, bringing him to the brink, then stopping to ask, "What do you want, baby, tell me." before swallowing him deep back down her throat.

He had cried over and over, "Please, I want to make you come!" and groaned when she tickled his asshole.

That wasn't the game they needed her she was never going to need anyone again.

"Stop no I don't want to come yet!" he had moaned as she had taken him to another ecstatic peak "Oh god, I need to fuck you - now, please!"

Michele's fingers pumped into her pussy now, and she whimpered quietly, close to her own orgasm.

"Fuck stop! I'm going to come!" he had screamed. At that she had plunged two slippery fingers into his asshole as she swallowed his cock completely, sliding them in and out as he lost control, spilling come down her throat as he grunted, thrashing helplessly under her tongue. Michele bucked too, her fingers flying over her pussy, water pounding down on her.

After he had finished, she immediately rose and started to dress. He had asked where she was going and she had smiled, saying "Home." as she walked out the door.

"But you never came." he had wailed after her.

"No." she had whispered, closing the door.

They never made her come, ever.