Verbal Seduction - A Self-Dare

I wish to thank my superb editor Ken once again. His patience is becoming legendary in my mind. Thank you, Ken, and may all your commas be correctly placed!

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Verbal seduction leads to physical seduction

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I know that some college girls act on dares. Just the other day on the subway, a young woman boarded the #2 train at Times Square (42nd Street), stripped naked, and rode naked to the next stop at 72nd Street. The distance is a mile and a half underground, and it takes a good five-plus minutes, so the woman provided quite a nice distraction for the otherwise bored and jaded riders. She dressed at 72nd Street and left the train. I figure it must have been a dare.

I like dares. I’ve taken to doing what I call self-dares. One of my recent self-dares was to go to a party and seduce a guy. The guy should be a stranger to me. I didn’t have to do anything with him but that would only be a partial success. It the guy got to lay me right there at the party it’d be a total success. Here’s the kicker: I had to do it all with language and submission. I call it a verbal seduction. All that I allowed myself to do was to talk and to not resist, physically or with language, anything the guy might try with me. I could make no suggestions, either, such as “let’s fuck.” That was verboten. I would simply submit to whatever happened, and that includes whatever sex he might want, if any. It didn’t matter if he were a stranger. He was likely to be a stranger in any event.

I allowed myself to initiate nothing, besides language and facial expressions. No touching the guy, no flashing some sexy part of me, nothing. It’s not so unusual; a lot of women behave that way. Why shouldn’t I?

You see, I have what most men consider to be a sexy body. I have curves in all the right places and nipples that like to sit up and say hello by poking at whatever top I wear. My boobs could be bigger, my thighs could be thinner, and my butt could be bubblier. However, most men (unlike women), I’ve found, react to the overall impression and don’t take a woman apart, finding small lacks, if the overall impression is sexy. I should also mention that I have, if not a pretty face, then at least an appealing one. My best features are my high cheekbones, my smile, my sexy eyes, and my sense of humor. My reasonably attractive face, my body, and my winning smile combine to bring the guy over to me, and my gift of gab and sense of humor keeps him next to me. That’s the plan, anyway.

I was dressed conservatively. I wore slacks and a blouse that buttoned up to my tiny, feminine Adam’s apple. I kept the blouse completely buttoned up except for the top button which was open. I allowed myself one concession and didn’t wear a bra, so my girls could do their thing. In particular my nipples poked at my blouse without mercy. Good for them.

Oh yes – I also wore perfume. I’m a woman, after all. You can’t deny your nature. I wore Néroli, by Givenchy. It’s currently my favorite scent.

There were lots of other women at the party out on the prowl. I was competing with women who were rather shamelessly showing a lot of skin in various places. I noticed some gorgeous side boob for example, and one woman had a boat neck blouse that gave men down looks worthy of Aphrodite herself.

I was not competing on that stage. My self-dare didn’t allow it. Anyway, competing with these sirens would lead to frustration and depression because – I knew with near certainty – that I would lose were I to wage war on their terms.

My winning smile and especially my smoldering come-hither facial expressions persuaded a guy named Dylan to come talk to me instead of entering the meat market competition. Marsha, the champion of the down-look girls, and Amelia, the most talented purveyor of gorgeous side boob flashes, each had several drooling guys around them hoping to get lucky. With Marsha it seemed a sure thing for at least one of the guys. With Amelia I wasn’t as sure. I’d been there, done that myself. This particular evening was different, due to my self-dare.

It wasn’t all about boobs, either. The short-skirt sluts represented a whole other front. It didn’t matter if you were a boobs guy or a legs man. In either case, you didn’t stand a chance, but then I figured they were more than happy to resign themselves to their fates.

Had I tried to compete, at best I’d be a consolation prize if any men were left over after the flesh-showing monsters and short-skirt floozies had taken their fill. I had to play the more subtle, intellectual angle. Also, it was a better fit for my personality.

Dylan was a nice guy: an intellectual, somewhat shy man. Yes, a nerd, you might say if you were cruel. When I’m in the flesh-exposing meat market I usually attract a different kind of guy. You know the type: Slam bam thank you ma’am. I typically enjoy the slam bam part of the evening but also typically I don’t climax during it, perhaps needing one or two extra slam bams to get there, and also typically, alas, those don’t happen. Hence my new approach. Maybe Dylan might be slow and loving. Change is good, right? My self-dare, however, did not allow for all the usual tricks of flashing skin. The seduction could only be verbal. I was in it for the fun of the challenge of my self-dare and not for the sex per se. Of course, rules made by me could be changed by me, should the need arise.

Dylan played into my hand when he mentioned Amelia’s outfit, which seemed to be opening up a bit as the evening wore on. No nipple flashes yet, but they were probably coming. I smiled.

“I guess everyone likes an unplanned flash of a girl’s girls, right?” I replied. There was little doubt Amelia’s right boob was preparing to escape its rather pathetic confines.

“Well … all men do, I’m sure.” Dylan was a little nervous. Maybe he was being too crude. The poor guy actually liked me. I always have a soft spot for men who like me and want to get under my clothes and especially into my panties. I’m insecure. Logic tells me I shouldn’t be, given my past successes at coaxing men’s mouths and hands onto my boobs and their cocks into my cunt, but everyone knows that logic and emotions are strangers.

“Women do, too. I shouldn’t speak for all women, but I know I enjoy it. I suspect Amelia might get lucky tonight.”

“She can’t miss.”

“We all can miss, Dylan. You know, if you like seeing some illicit flashes of boobs, you should have been at the party here two months ago.”

“Why? What happened?”

“An Asian girl named Ling was sitting between two guys. She was kissing both of them. It was impressive.”

“What do you mean, kissing both of them?” Like I said, Dylan is a bit of a nerd. I suspect he thought she was kissing both men at exactly the same time, and having trouble not thinking it was a physical impossibility.

“Just that. The guy on her left would give her a long, sexy kiss. She’d turn her head and the guy on her right would give her just as sexy a kiss. Then she’d turn to her left and get another from the first guy. Then again the guy on her right side. Lather, rinse, repeat.” I smiled at Dylan and winked. I expected him to make a pass and try to kiss me but he didn’t. The fire needed a bit more kindling. Dylan was a challenge. I like a challenge: It makes my game more fun.

“Two guys? Sounds sexy.”

“It was. Ling was wearing a blouse much like the one I’m wearing now, with buttons from the waist to the neck. With each kiss, the other guy would undo a button during the kiss.”

“What did Ling do? She was being undressed in public!”

“She returned the kisses. She ignored the button play.”

“Wow. How far did the two men go?”

“How many buttons are on my blouse?”

“I guess around 15. Your blouse has a lot of buttons.”

“With Ling the two men undid all 15 buttons while they kissed her.”

“That’s a lot of kisses. Was her bra showing, then?”

“She had small boobs. No bra.”

“Did the men fondle –”

“Oh, yeah. They went to town with her boobs, all while continuing to alternate kissing her. Her nipples were hard as rocks. Everyone saw her tits.”

“Were they nice tits?”

“Well, they were almost exact copies of my own tits, so modesty forbids me to say. I suspect it was enough for all the horny men that they were tits on display. All the men at the party could admire them while Ling’s two would-be lovers enjoyed them to the max. I suspect all men like seeing a girl’s tits no matter the size, shape, or color.

“You got that right. For example, I’d love to see your tits.”

“Yes Dylan, I’m sure you would. However, you can’t always get what you want. We only met an hour or two ago.”

“Tell me more about Ling. Did they try to expose more of her?”

“At some point she lost control of her blouse. It took a while longer, but at one point I saw her lift her ass off the couch and the two men slipped off her pencil skirt. Apparently they had already unzipped it. She was not wearing hose, so all she had on at that point – besides her wide-open blouse – was her panties. She has nice legs, as now everyone knows.”

“God, I wish I could have seen that. It’s so amazing. What happened next?”

“Not much. The two men continued to take turns kissing her. They both constantly played with her boobs. One of them began to caress her pussy above her green panties. It was March 17, you see. She was beginning to moan.”

“My God!”

“Yes, it was getting out of control.”

“What happened?”

“Ling took a hand of each of the two men and rose from the couch, still kissing each of them, alternating between them. She led them to the green door at the far side of this room. Everyone’s eyes followed them. An almost naked girl, clothed only in panties, with a man on each arm tends to attract attention. Ling was no exception.”

“Did she take them behind the green door?”

I smiled. Dylan didn’t see the humor of what he had just said. I didn’t point it out.

“Yes. Then she closed it and locked it.”

“What happened behind the green door?”

I rolled my eyes. The entire seduction was worth it for that last utterance of poor, innocent Dylan. “I can’t say.”

“It sounds like she had a threesome.”

“Yes, it certainly does. You never know, though. Maybe a clutch of gorgeous lesbians was waiting behind the green door.”

Ignoring my reference to the lesbians, Dylan asked, “Have you ever had a threesome?”

“Once again, we don’t know each other well enough to share such intimate information.”

“It’s okay, I won’t tell. I’ve often fantasized about threesomes.” Dylan looked at me. His gaze was penetrating. “You have had a threesome, haven’t you.”

“A few years ago, I had a foursome. Two men and another woman. Does that count?” I teased.

“Wow, oh wow. Tell me about it, please?”

I just smiled.

“Pretty please?”

I just smiled some more.

“Did you swap partners at some point?”

Dylan struck me as an eager puppy, but I knew it would destroy him if I laughed or even giggled. One of the few things I’m not is cruel. “Yes, we did. That evening two different men enjoyed my favors. One after the other. I enjoyed theirs too, and just as much if not more.”

“You’re amazing. May I kiss you?”

“Just a little, sure.”

Dylan kissed me. Finally! As we kissed he undid a few buttons of my blouse. We continued to kiss, and I continued to have more buttons opened. Before too long, it was all fifteen. Dylan kissed well and I was getting aroused. His hand slipped inside my now open blouse and he caressed my left tit. He gently pinched my nipple. It was a beautiful pinch – full of affection. We continued to kiss. This was going beyond verbal seduction, but I had given myself the out of submission. Smart move, I told myself.

Dylan took my hand and pulled me up. He began to lead me away. Everyone could see my boobs as my blouse oscillated between closed and wide open as we walked.

“Where are we going?” I asked when he took a breath and stopped kissing me.

“Let’s see what’s behind the green door. The scene of the threesome. I have to see it!”

“I’m sure it’s just a bedroom.” I submissively let him lead me across the room. He would not be deterred. He was obsessed with the idea of seeing what was behind the green door.

“You know that story you told me about Ling that happened here two months ago?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Was it a true story?”

“Yes Dylan, it was.”

“So what do you think happened? Did they both fuck Ling?”

“The door was closed and locked. We all heard some rather telltale moaning. That girl Ling can really moan. All I can say is that when they emerged, two hours later, all three of them were smiling, and Ling gave them lingering kisses goodnight at the front door.”

“So we don’t know what actually happened behind the green door?”

“We can infer, but only those in the room could truly know.”

“What do you infer?” Dylan asked.

I said nothing, preferring to give an inscrutable smile.

“What’s your name?” he asked. It was about time he asked that.

“I’m Ling.”

We entered the room behind the green door. I closed the door and locked it. It was a solid wood door, colored a kind of lime green. It matched my panties, which were soon on the floor. Four sets of padded handcuffs were on the bed, along with a Guantanamo-grade blindfold. Dylan entered a state of shock.

“What are the handcuffs for?” Dylan asked.

Seriously? He asked? Well, he did tell me earlier in the evening that he hailed from northern Maine. No matter how strange, all behavior can be explained by saying you’re from northern Maine.

“Do you think they handcuffed the woman two months ago?”

Did he not realize I was the woman? Does he think there are a lot of women running around at these parties with fifteen-button blouses, green panties, no bra and named Ling?

“Hard to say. Probably she was handcuffed, naked, and spread-eagle on the bed. One of the guys had an Australian accent, after all.”

That too went right by Dylan. He clearly didn’t know the Australians’ penchant for bondage.

Suddenly one of the padded handcuffs snapped shut around my right wrist. Dylan didn’t know I’m left handed. I began to protest, even though my dare didn’t allow me to. What part of total submission allows for protests? I just wasn’t ready for this. It was going too far.

Small matter – the next wrist cuffed was my left. I protested more, and more vigorously, all the time ashamed of myself for violating my own self-dare. Dylan ignored my protests and pushed me onto my back on the bed. Soon my arms were spread wide and cuffed to the headboard. Two minutes later I was spread-eagle on the bed and Dylan had found his cell phone and was taking pictures galore. He told me to smile for the pictures and I did. I have a nice smile. Then he undressed. Did I see foam at his mouth? I was scared, yet still I smiled.

I watched Dylan strip off. He had a nice body: broad shoulders, mildly muscled arms, just the right amount of chest hair, decent abs, and fabulously muscular legs. I also noticed – of course – that his cock was hard and sticking straight out at 90 degrees from his body. It was obviously hard for me, and that little realization made me wetter. I was already turned on.

It’s once in a blue moon when a man begins by eating me out, so I had low expectations on that score, and sure enough it didn’t happen. He did finger me, however; a good fingering, especially when I am bound as I was, goes a long way with me. We could both hear the sloshing sounds his fingers made. My pussy resembled a swamp at this point, and if only he had thought to clean the swamp! Instead he got on top of me, and his hard cock poked around a bit.

“Want to guide me in?”

“My hands are bound. Sorry, Dylan, you’re on your own,” I said, and I giggled.

A few more pokes and he found my entry, pushed his cock in, and we were off to the races! Dylan did not drop dead like those horses at the Kentucky Derby; no, he was more like the horse Mage, who ran a beautiful race with a super strong finish to pull ahead of Two Phils, for the win. Much as I would have liked to have had Two Phils doing me (two men named Phil being better than one), Mage did a fine job, if my moans were any indication. I imagine the entire party on the other side of the green door knew I was getting royally fucked and loving it.

I’m no Marilyn Chambers, but we had a good time, Dylan especially. The only drag was his cum was too salty for my taste. (He graciously released me from my bondage so that I could get him up for another fuck. I just as graciously complied and managed to get him hard again in a New York minute.) Dylan apparently has a short recovery time. Even better, I didn’t need two men. The handcuffs were reapplied, and Dylan drove me to another quite nice climax. Even though I was bound and almost immobile, Dylan was slow and loving, which was just what I needed.

When Dylan eventually ran out of cum to donate to my cause we just lay together. He had uncuffed my right side. He looked at my still-cuffed left wrist and hand. “I see you have a diamond ring and a gold band on your left ring finger. I hadn’t noticed them before. Are you married, Ling?”

Can you believe this guy? What guy doesn’t check the ring finger of the woman he wants to seduce?

“Are you always this quick?”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t notice the rings before. You don’t look old enough to be married.”

“Nevertheless.”

“Will your husband be upset?”

“Upset about what?”

“What we just did, of course. Actually it’s kind of exciting to have laid another man’s wife. I’ve never done that before.”

“That you know of.”

“Right.”

“Anyway, my husband doesn’t own me, or my body, or my sexual favors. My husband is a woman, by the way.”

“He is?”

“Yes, she is.”

“So you’re the wife?”

“What was your first clue?”

Dylan giggled. He actually giggled. You’ve gotta like a guy who giggles. “Is your husband all macho? Does she own guns?”

“Relax, Dylan. She presents no danger to you. Do you want to liberate my left side? Unless of course you want yet another round?”

“Want to help wake up my cock?”

Dylan freed me from my bondage, and I rewarded him with his best-ever blowjob, or so he said at the time. I never trust such utterances made in the throes of sexual climaxes. He got it up but did not want my ass as it turns out. The guy is a pussy hound and only-pussy-all-the-time kind of guy. I can deal with that. He does my pussy really well, after all.

Dylan had trouble with the concept of bisexuality. I explained it to him in some detail. “My husband Sarabeth knows I’m bi, of course, and she allows me the occasional fling with a guy. I’ve enjoyed our time a lot, Dylan. You are a tonic for my soul.”

In an unusual move for me, Dylan and I even made plans for a date the next Friday night. Dylan left me with that wonderful cum-filled feeling as well as the satisfied feeling of yet another accomplished self-dare. Dylan seemed irresistible, after all. To resist is futile. My world is filled with futility, but luckily, not where Dylan is concerned.

Sarabeth – who is most definitely not bisexual but a fully-fledged lesbian – wants to meet Dylan. Sarabeth is gorgeous, and men always seem to want her. That’s how things began with us. Men would flock to Sarabeth like flies to shit, get rebuffed, and then realize some pussy is better than none and try me on. Sarabeth didn’t mind – she was glad I could take the pressure off, and I was so insecure at the time that I didn’t mind my consolation prize status as long as I got men who wanted me. I consider myself to be quite a nice consolation prize, after all.

As I got more and more of Sarabeth’s frustrated rejects, my confidence grew, and I went out on my own. The two slam bam men a couple of months ago was only my third time trying to get picked up. Dylan was my fourth. I’ve raved about Dylan to Sarabeth enough that she wants to meet the other love of my life. I guess she’s checking out the competition. I wonder just to what extent she actually will check him out. If it’s thorough, will I get to watch? After all, before Sarabeth discovered she was gay she explored the wide world of men in quite some detail. She could regress, so to speak, and try out Dylan in bed. Dylan wouldn’t mind. No man would mind; Sarabeth is that pretty and sexy. I’ll bring the handcuffs, just in case.