I had plans with the girls, my girls. Dinner and some dancing. I know you wanted me to stay and play, but these plans were made ages ago. Begrudgingly, you accepted that I wouldn’t drink at the club and you can pick me up. Myself and my four work friends always have a fantastic time. They are my freedom. We talk and support each other about the important stuff and dance our problems away a couple of times a year. I’m just one of the girls.
You once said I was a lot of woman. I’m pretty much an Amazonian. In the day to day, I’m a fixer, I coordinate and manage my corner of the universe. My work makes a difference. I’m five-foot-nine, red hair and hazel eyes and I like shoes. Moreover, I love high heel shoes. I feel sexy and powerful in them. It is the only public intersection of my kink and the vanilla world.
It’s just after 11 when I notice you at the bar. You’re kinda’ hard to miss, your six- four muscle defined frame with swarthy features is rather imposing. Your position at the end of the bar gives you a view of the entire dance floor. Like a puppy seeing her owner I make my way over and come to you. My hair is pulled into a ponytail, my sheer black blouse is fantastic for dancing, I don’t get too warm. It helps that my boobs look amazing and if I am dancing, boobs are bouncing. You do not look impressed. I suck in my bottom lip instinctually as I read your expression. I’m trying to suppress my smile and giggle of satisfaction. I like you this way. It makes our play more intense.
“Thanks for coming to get me. I want to stay a little longer, ok?” Your right hand is at my waist. I reach up and kiss your cheek. Dramatically, I bat my eyelashes and pout a little. I know it annoys you, but I’m feeling brave.
“Really?” you reply flatly.
I am effervescent and bubbly. You’re less than amused. My response brings out the brat in me, I kiss you on the cheek and return to the dance floor. The girls are where I left them, we have a yelling conversation about your arrival, I point you out and they all wave. You are stoic and tip your head towards us. When will I have pushed your patience to the limit? You are used to weekends being all yours. I hug the girls farewell and join you. I’m still giddy, playful, and fearless. You put your hand in the small of my back and maneuver through the crowd. This softens me; there is a shift in the dynamic between us. As we get to the car, I start to take my hair down. I know you like to down and free flowing.
“No! leave it, I like it.” Your growl is low but undeniable.
This gives me pause. This is new.
As I get in the car, my thin leather collar is waiting on the seat. I retrieve it and slip it on as I sit. The side and back windows are tinted, so very little can be seen by the world around us. As I turn to put on my seat belt you take my ponytail and wrap in around your hand. The yank catches me off guard and breaks my composure.
“Ahgh, What the fuck?” I have no choice but to go where you pull.
You pull me to you and growl as you squeeze my breast, it hurts, I grit my teeth and flinch, refusing to give you the squeal you want. The buttons of my blouse strain against my breasts as you cup and squeeze my breast, holding my eyes, watching and waiting for a sign of surrender. The thought of never getting the wrinkles out flicks through my mind. I am not as present as you would like. I taste blood. I am biting under my bottom lip to deprive you of what you want. You slowly pinch my nipple, tears fill my eyes, the pain is excruciatingly sweet. I can’t fight it. I know there will be a set of bruises tomorrow as you release me. You start the car, I put on my seat belt, you drive me back to the cabin where we will continue, you the hunter, me the prey.