2 comments/ 19561 views/ 4 favorites Self Control By: clodia_metelli It was late. Too late. Too late to be over there, too late to walk home. All the buses had stopped hours earlier, and she hadn't left. It was far too late for her to be at his house watching movies, but neither of them said anything about it. She was fairly certain that he had arrived at the same conclusion she had, that the less said about it, the better. It was only a movie, true, but it was three in the morning, and they were alone. That in itself frightened her, because it is always frightening to experience something dreamt of, fantasized about, and longed for. In scenes in her mind she had played this part before, and knew how the scene ended, and the knowledge made her shiver with despair, with desire. She tried to snap herself out of it, took a sip of water and focused back on the glowing screen and the film in front of her. The leading lady had just left her house and was walking towards her car, wind moving her skirt and leaving tendrils of hair streaming down her neck. Breathtaking. "Wow" she said to no one in particular "what I wouldn't give to have legs like that! That woman is infinitely doable." "Negh" said her companion from the other side of the couch "her face looks odd, and besides, how could I notice her with you in the room?" He beamed with exalted pride in his own cheesy line, then braced for the inevitable smack and she grabbed the nearest pillow. "Oh that's it!" she cried, smiling from ear to ear "I thought I learned you not to be such a smart ass last time, but clearly, I need to teach you again!" With that she flew across the couch and started wholloping him senseless with the cushion, giggling and flailing wildly as he impotently tried to escape her assault. But soon the battled had turned and he grabbed the pillow from her, his arm reaching around her back to get the other two behind her as a safety measure. It was only at this time did she notice how close they had come, breathless and glowing from laughter and mock fighting. His arm around her shoulder, her chest just inches away from her, their faces practically touching. Instantaneously the laughter and smiling died, their innocence replaced by something far darker and more powerful. Sensing this too, he looked at her, his chest still rising and falling heavily from battle. Their eyes met, and something passed between them. Internally she felt a stab of pain as the last vestiges of propriety fled, leaving nothing else in the room to safe guard her from those eyes and the mounting energy pulling her ever closer to them. There was no turning back, no stopping what had been set in motion. As afraid as she was, her mind raced with every thought she had ever had, every day dream and fantasy, the way she imaged his lips would taste and his hair would smell. One staggered breath followed another, and the oppressive heat around them weighted her down, made it somehow impossible to move an inch. But she could still feel it, the connection, the lust between them, and the mounting longing between her legs became a physical torment. He looked like he might hurt her, break her with his need, the expanse of his height and frame dwarfing her small body. His eyes burned and he radiated heat, and she was certain that if he chose to take her she would have little chance of stopping him. This thought terrified her, not by it's violence, but by how deeply she desired it. She wanted him on her, pressing tightly into her, dominating her and forcing himself upon her. She wanted to feel trapped beneath him, no recourse but to abandon herself to the helpless pleasure of it. But he didn't force her, didn't throw her down and take her. As gentle as a lamb, he lifted one hand to her face and brushed her cheek with his fingers, trembling as he did so. Her eyes closed, and a new, more horrible need overcame her. Not simply to be possessed by him, but to be loved by him as well. She felt ashamed of her need, her lust, and of the terrifying intensity of it. His gentleness shamed her, his mute and self-conscious appeal to her, not for the raw carnality she had wanted, but for tenderness, made her flinch at the thought of her own base desires. Eyes still closed, a tear fell down her cheek and landed on his hand. The heated and frightening energy of the moment now dissipated, he brought her shaking form close to him and held her as a more tears fell. Neither said a word, he just wrapped his arms around her like a blanket and let her rest of his chest until the trembling stopped. After a few minutes she looked up at him, sadness brimming from the deep brown of his eyes, lids heavy and exhausted. "Are you okay?" she asked quietly, curling in a little closer by way of an attempt at comforting him. "Um hmm" he lied, barely loud enough to be heard. "I've hurt him" she thought, her self-disgust mounting higher. "I can't bare the thought of it. I bring this upon him, time and again, and he still has it in him to worry about me, to take care of me, no matter what it costs him to do it. I'm so selfish! And I would have hurt him again tonight by giving in to my lust, by making something cheep out of this. God, why can't I do the right thing?" The tension, the rising sensuality and longing now evaporated, they were left in the cold of the basement holding each other, separated by their own thoughts and worries. But she wouldn't let it end like that, she couldn't. He had given her so much and all she had offered was nothing. Looking up at him again, she met his eyes and let her gaze linger there. Looking into each other's stare, she reached up and touched his face much as he had done to hers, and rose slowly forward towards him. He looked as though about to speak, but her hand cupped around his chin and brought their mouths closer together. Eyes closed, she leaned forward into his lips, pressing them with her own. There was no charge of electricity, no burning lust, just a warmth that spread from his flesh onto hers and traveled lazily down her spine and into every part of her. Wanting it to last, wanting it to heal all the hurt she had caused, she let the kiss continue, her lips making slow sipping motions at his, pulling the kiss deeper. His arms wrapped around her gently, but his hold upon her was forceful, strong. It felt safe and good. She let one hand caress his back while the other ran fingers through his hair, bringing herself even closer to him in the process. Her lips parted a little, barely at all, and his responded in kind, the warmth traveling through her amplifying into a heat that resembled the fiery lust that coursed through her earlier, but bore none of its terror or intensity. She was flushed with the warmth of his touch, his kiss, and her breath came slow and strong as the kiss deepened, taking in as much of each other in as they could. His tongue, toying with hers, reseeded back from her as he broke off the kiss, pulling himself backward enough to focus on her face, her eyes. He looked at her as though waiting for an answer, but she didn't have one. She couldn't have said why she did it, or what it meant, or what would happen now. "Are you okay?" she asked again, trembling. "Yes" he replied, "are you?". She wasn't sure. She was afraid of what would happen now. It was late, and the busses had stopped running. How do you gracefully run away? Or, alternately, how do you utterly avoid the questions and keep going? Which one did she want? "I'm okay" she whispered. "I like this. Regrets?" "None" "I have no idea what I'm doing" "Neither do I" he said, pausing for a second before asking "this wont ruin anything will it?" "No. I don't want it to. I'm still scared. I don't want this to change anything; I just thought that it should happen. Felt right." He looked a little sad, and she felt a little sad. Wanting the sadness to go away, she kissed his cheek, tiny little kisses darting from one inch to the other. "Sorry" she offered "this can stop now, if you want" He closed his eyes and shushed her, then placed his hand behind her neck, bringing her to him again. This kiss had more hunger behind it, more need. She kissed him hard, feeling her lips bruised against his, and the roughness of his chin scratching hers. His fingers tangled into the hair at the base of her neck, as her hands moved forcefully up and down his back and shoulders. Her desire rose again, welcomed now, fed by the pleasure of the kiss. As they continued, he leaned back, pulling her down with him until she was lying on top of him, legs straddling his waist, chest to his chest. The kissing and the touching were frenzied now, hands stroking, nails scratching, nibbling and biting his bottom lip as he fondled her hips and ass, forcing her harder upon him. She moved her mouth to his cheek, then neck, pulling at the deliciously sensitive flesh with her lips, suckling and kissing, breathing in the intoxicating scent of his skin. Beneath her, she could feel him grow hard, his erection digging into her leg. Painfully aware of her own desire, of the heat and wetness and pressure of her sex, she shifted her weight and brought herself down squarely onto his cock, his hardness pressing into her exquisitely. Still clothed, she began to move her body hard against his, gasping for air and crying out with need and frustration. She wanted him, wanted to feel his cock pressed into her sex, feel it enter and part the insatiable heat and moisture of her, feel him fill her and pump himself into her over and over. She wanted to ride him hard, pulling herself off of his hardness and then drive him back into her, again and again, wanted to feel him deep inside of her as she came, tightening and convulsing around him. It was maddening, and painful and wonderful. She continued to move against him, sitting up now so that he could fondle her chest. Both lost in the spell of the pleasure, any other thoughts were banished. God! She wanted to cum so badly! She was so close, she could almost feel the tightness and cold, fire-like sensation creeping up her muscles and skin. His eyes burned with intensity, his mouth opened slightly, the fullness of his bottom lip pouting seductively as his gasped for air. Looking at those lips, she realized what she wanted, what she needs to do to fulfill the dizzying, maddening need between her legs. Taking his hands away from her breasts, she leaned down and kissed his chest, trailing kisses further down his torso. She shifted her self ever so slowly downward, stopping at each button of his shirt to undo it with her teeth. Lingering at the softness of his belly, she kissed and nibbled him while finding the rigid peek of his hardon straining against the fabric of his pants. With one hand she rubbed him, feeling the hardness and the thickness of it, shuddering in anticipation, while with the other undoing the belt and fly. Loosening the belt, she slipped her hand into his pants, and heard him gasp in pleasure as she stroked him. As gracefully as she could, she removed his pants, hauling them to knee length while continuing to kiss and fondle him. She pressed her face close to his sex, breathing in both the scent of his arousal and hers, her wetness having covered him as she rode his erection. She kissed and licked playfully at the shaft of his cock and at the head, feeling him shudder and writhe each time. It was beautiful, wonderful, and the raw masculinity of it drugged her. God it felt good! Moistening her lips with her tongue, she moved upward and pressed her lips against the head, then slowly took it in her mouth. It tasted wonderful! She ran her tongue along the tip and down the center as she ever so slowly moved her head down and up, suckling and rubbing it as she went. Each time she lowered herself onto it, she took a little more in her mouth, felt herself filled with him, heard him groan and sigh deliriously. Her tongue flicked back and forth along the head and curved alone the shaft, serpentining loosely at every crevasse. Her hands moved up and down it, occasionally toying with his balls. The more she tasted him, the wetter she became, the more she wanted to feel him inside her. It would be so easy! It would feel so good to simply lift herself on top of him and have him thrust into her! The thought alone verged on orgasm. But what traces of a conscious remained to her kept her from taking him inside of her, and with no other outlet for her desires she took still more of his cock into her mouth, tongue caressing wildly, pleasuring him with wild abandon. With one hand she stroked and played with his erection, and with the other she began to reach below herself and under her dress. He was gasping, moving his hips in time with his suckling, his eyes closed in agonized pleasure; she was certain he'd never notice where her hand was or what it was doing. God, she wanted to cum so badly! She laid two fingers against the soaking fabric of her panties and pushed them to one side, finding the cleft on her sex and moving them into herself. It was so hot, so wet! A gasp of pleasure escaped her lips as she found her clit, distracting her from the steadily increasing arousal of her partner. As she rubbed him, kissing and sucking and licking him closer and closer to climax, she fingered herself furiously and played with her clit. She was so, so very close to cumming, she could feel it building inside of her. She wanted it so bad! Just as she thought she could take no more, just as she was contemplating throwing caution to the wind and lowering herself onto him, feeling him fill her, his back arched and grew rigid. His legs stiffened, and the staccato rhythm of his breathing peeked into a moan of absolute ecstasy. "Oh God" she thought, "he's cumming!". The idea of it did something to her, something she could not explain. Fire began at the tips of her fingers, nipples, and her clit, and spread deliciously slow throughout her entire body. The finger still buried knuckle deep within her was suddenly forced out of her by the contractions of her pussy as she shuddered and shivered into orgasm. As this was happening, he climaxed. A small taste of salt was followed by a flooding of tart sweetness, like over ripe wild berries in a garden. It filled her mouth as he, unable to control himself, forced himself as deep into her mouth as he could go. There was so much of it, and the sensation of him cumming into her mouth only made her own orgasm harder, more wonderful. As is rolled off her tongue and down into her, she let the flavor linger, letting it drug her. They lay there for a little while, her face pressed against his stomach, his hand stroking her hair gently. "Are you okay?" she asked, sleepily, unable to process what she should do now, what was expected of her. "Yeah. You?" he responded By way of answer she lifted herself upwards so that was lying beside him on the couch, her arm draped across his chest, her head nestled into the hollow of his shoulder. She wasn't sure where it came from, but he found a blanket and pulled it over both of them, and nothing in the room besides their eyes and the white blue nimbus of the TV screen broke the darkness. She wasn't sure what had happened, now that it was over, but she felt at peace, felt whole. She probably should have gone home, gone home hours ago, but she didn't. She lay there, wrapped in darkness and stillness and his arms, and she'd stay there until she had no other choice but to go again. Self-Control Carrie stood in front of her student mailbox staring at the note. It was a half sheet of notebook paper with a message scrawled across it in pencil. It looked as though the person who had written it had pressed down with a lot of force. It said, "I'm going to beat off while I watch you tonight. Go Tigers" She shivered. It was the third note that she had gotten in as many weeks. She looked up at the clock. It was 3:30. The pre-game pep rally started in two hours. She had just enough time to grab a bite to eat. Her car was one of only a few in the lot. For such a rich junior college, her Geo tracker looked out of placed among the lot that was usually full of new VW beetles, Beamers, and Saturns. She loved it though. She climbed in and realized as she closed the door how rattled she was. She sat there for a few minutes breathing slowly. She opened her eyes and without thinking, carefully took a small leather bag out from under her seat. She unzipped it and pulled out two well-folded pieces of paper. She took the first one, looked around the parking lot, and opened it, being careful to keep it below eye level. The handwriting was the same. It was the first letter she had received, just two months after she started at this school. It said, simply, "I know about you." She laid it in her lap and took the second note. This one had appeared a week later, the same as the first, laid on top of her books in her locker. She unfolded it and held it next to the first note. It was the same except it said, "I'm watching you." Why had she kept these? She exhaled and took out the new note and laid it on top of the other two. She looked around. She was alone in the lot except for what looked like a janitor over by the building, sweeping the sidewalk. She stared at the note. She closed her eyes. Self control. She laid her head back in the seat. She licked her lips. Her mouth opened, hungry for something to kiss. She slid her hand up her thigh under her skirt and pushed her panties aside. She found that she couldn't help herself as she started rubbing her clit with two fingers in a regular rhythm. She was slippery and warm. She brought her other hand up, leaned further back and slid two fingers into her pussy. She moaned softly under her breath, sliding her fingers in and out, occasionally moving them up to join her other hand rubbing around and on her clit. She remembered where she was and forced herself to climax quickly, eyes closed, feet pressing hard against the floorboards. She pulled her fingers slowly out of her vagina and grabbed a gym towel from the back seat to wipe her hands off. She looked around. The janitor was walking back into the building. She was ashamed. So much for self-control. By 5:00 she was in the girls locker room putting on her cheerleading uniform. It was a white, button down tank top and skirt with orange and black trim. The face of a tiger was outlined in black on the front of the shirt as well as on the butt of her orange cheerleading trunks under her skirt. She was tallish for a cheerleader, almost 5'9. She had long, very tan legs, one of the benefits of moving to southern California, and long curly hair. She stood in front of the big mirror and watched the other cheerleaders running around in various states of nudity. Of the sixteen cheerleaders that made up the junior college varsity squad, she had heard rumors about at least three of them that might not object to being touched by another woman. She forced herself to break eye contact with Amber's struggle with her sports bra and went back to applying the slightly exaggerated makeup that the squad wore for the large crowd. Her mind drifted to the words in the note. Would there really be some guy out there masturbating as she waggled her ass during the half time show? She pressed her crotch against the edge of the counter and let her eyes wander back to the girls who had just arrived and had begun getting undressed. The performance of the halftime show went smoothly for the squad. Carrie, on the other hand, had a bit of a struggle. From the moment she got out onto the floor she could feel eyes on her. It felt like she was dancing just for this strange mystery guy. Whenever she would do any of the more erotic moves, (slutty her mom had called them) she would become more and more aroused. She got wet very quickly which made dancing an incredible turn on, with each move her wet lips would slid against one another and she began having a hard time concentrating. She imagined that the dampness between her legs was leaving a dark spot on her cheerleading trunks for all to see and that made things even worse. She managed to hold it together though, and was relieved and disappointed when the number was over. It was a good game. The tigers won handily and the atmosphere in the locker room after the game was one of excitement. There would be a wild post-game party, she knew. Carrie took a long time in the shower, discretely watching the other girls, enjoying the water running down over her nipples and between her legs. She was disappointed at how wound up she had let herself get. She had to take care of the problem before the party. She couldn't be trusted in that type of situation. She volunteered to stay behind and put the poms away. That would give her the crucial excuse to get away from the crowd and to get a few minutes alone. It took two trips to get all the poms put away There was very little light in the big equipment room. The room was used by all the athletics programs, as well as some storage from the kitchen and the small college theatre department. After she brought in the second load of poms she closed the door behind her and leaned her back against it inside the equipment room. She was breathing heavy. As ashamed as she was, she decided to take a few minutes and enjoy herself, besides, she was doing it to avoid a catastrophe at the after game party. She unbuttoned her tank and undid the clasp on her bra. She eagerly grabbed her nipple and rolled between her fingers. She let out a low moan. He clit was on fire. She shoved her hand into her cheerleading trunks and quickly slid two fingers in to her slit. "Mmmmm," she moaned and smiled open mouthed. She fell forward onto her knees frantically teasing and pinching her nipples with one hand and getting herself off with the other. She broke out in a sheen of sweat across her forehead and chest. She was rocking back and forth on the floor, humping her own hand, grunting with each thrust. Then she felt the tingle in her clit that mean she was about to cum. She put her head down on the floor and concentrated on the fluttering movement of her fingers on her pussy. "Well, look what we have hear," came a voice out of the darkness. She stopped still, and looked up. At first she couldn't see very well, after a few seconds she realized she could see a pair of legs in the corner by the basketballs that led up into darkness. She realized that the hand between her legs was still rubbing her clit, slowly. "Oh, don't stop on my account." Chuckled the voice. That laugh was all it took. She stood up and began buttoning her top. Her face was hot with an embarrassed flush. There was nothing she could say, it was obvious what she had been doing. "You shouldn't spy on people." She said quietly as she fumbled with the buttons on her shirt. "I've been watching you all night," said the man. "I know all about you." She stopped trying to button her blouse and started into the darkness where the man's head should be, trying to make out his features. "You don't know anything about me." She said, more defiantly. There was a pause and the man stepped forward. She could see that he was wearing the uniform the custodians wore, but he didn't come far enough into the light to make out his face. "I know that you're going to suck my cock." He said plainly. She stared for a minute, breath caught, then said, "I don't know what your talking about," and she began gathering up her things. The man hesitated and seemed to be unsure of himself. Then his hand came up and he undid his pants. He pulled his cock out and just stood there. She stopped moving. There wasn't anything particularly unusual about the guy's dick. It was average size as far as she could tell. But it was hard in his hand. As she stared, he began stroking it slowly. "Suck my cock." He said, very quietly, business-like. She licked her lips, her mouth was wet, her eyes were glued to the man's hand slowly stroking him self. He wasn't more than fifteen feet away. There was a brief internal struggle but after the note, the girls, the dancing and how close she had been to climaxing just a few minutes earlier she surrendered and walked over to the man, without looking at him and got down on her knees in front of him. He slid his free hand into her hair and guided her eager mouth over the head of his penis. She moaned low in her throat. He coaxed her mouth further and further down his shaft with each small thrust. He was surprisingly gentle. Soon he let go of his cock and used his hands to guide her head. She slid one hand down between her legs and toward her aching, feverish clit. "You don't touch yourself until I say you can touch yourself." He said seriously and she whined a little with her mouth full of cock and moved her hand back up to the base of his dick. The longer she licked and sucked his dick the more she began to moan and writhe on the floor. She would alternate between clamping her legs together for the small pleasure she got, to spreading her legs wide as if to invite some invisible stranger to take her from behind. Then he grabbed her head and pulled her mouth off of his cock. She sat on the floor panting and staring at him. "Unbutton your shirt," he said a little breathlessly and she reached up and undid all the buttons and unclasped her bra. "Stand up." She stood up and he reached up and pinched her nipple with his left hand. She shivered and gasped. "You like that?" She didn't answer but stood there, eyes closed, waiting. "I said do you like that," he asked and grabbed her other nipple and rolled both between his fingers. She groaned and moved towards him in spite of herself. "Get over there and climb up on those mats." She looked to where he was pointing and saw a stack of blue gymnastic mats. She walked over slowly, turned around and hoisted herself up with her hands. "Spread you legs." She looked at him but scooted back enough to spread her legs slowly as she sat on top of the mats. He reached up and moved his hand toward her pussy. She began moaning and her legs were shaking. It was all she could do not to grab his hand and shove his fingers into her. She lay back and waited as he ran his hands along her thighs until he reached her seriously damp panties. He slid them off and spread her legs even further apart. She closed her eyes waited. She felt his hot breath on her wet pussy. Then a tongue probed between the warm folds and a bolt of electricity ran through her causing her to arch her back and cry out. She had almost cum in that one moment of contact. "You are quite the little whore aren't you?" the man laughed a little as Carrie moaned. He slid two finger into her quickly up to the knuckle. "Oh God," she gasped and ground her pelvis down onto his hand. "I mean look at you, legs spread for someone you don't even know, about to fuck a total stranger. . . . won't be the first time will it Carrie?" She didn't answer or give any sign that she had even heard. She was riding his fingers, eyes closed, heels digging into the blue mat. He quickly pulled his fingers out of her pussy. "No!" she cried, eyes snapping open. He grabbed her by the hips and slit her to the edge of the mats He took her knees and spread her legs as wide as they would go. She ran her hand along her bare stomach but stopped short of the carefully cropped hair just above her pubic bone. She was still breathing heavy. The hand on her stomach kept moving, back and forth, back and forth. He stood there and watched her, rubbing one hand up and down her long thigh. "Can I . . .?" she whispered. "Can you what?" she could hear that smug smile in his voice and hated him for it. "Please" He waited rubbing her thigh up and down, closer and closer to her pussy. "Please, can I?" and her hand moved down until her fingers were resting just above her swollen clit. "Okay Carrie" and her hand shot down and she began frantically rubbing her clit, a loud moan coming from her throat as she began to writhe on the mat. The man's hand shot out and grabbed her wrist. "Not so fast! You do it slow." She moaned as he slowly replaced her fingers and she began moving her fingers in a slow circle around her clit. "Slower" Carrie began panting and struggled to slow down even further as her hips rocking under her hand. "Slower," he said quietly. Her fingers were barely moving through the slickness of her lips and Carrie was panting loudly. He stood there watching her, slowly stroking his cock as she played with herself. Then the man grabbed hold of Carrie's hips and dragged her forward until her ass was at the edge of the mat. "That's enough of that" he said and moved Carrie's hand away from her clit to Carrie's anguished cry. He used one had to spread her legs and used the other to place his hard cock at the entrance to her pussy. He applied a little pressure and began rocking back and forth so his dick was teasing the lips of her slit. "Do you want me to fuck you?" "Yesss," she moaned. "Hm. Do you want to get fucked by a total stranger Carrie?" "Yessss" "Are you a whore Carrie?" "Oh God," she cried out and spread her legs as wide as she could, trying to scoot down onto his dick but he wouldn't let her. "Are you a whore Carrie? "Oh. Yes. Yes, Please. . . " "Please what, Carrie?" "Please. . . please. . " "Yes?" "Please fuck me, God, yes, please fuck me." Her words were coming out as low moans between gasping breaths. "And why do you want me to fuck you Carrie?" "Please, please, fuck me" "Answer the question and I'll fuck you. I'll fuck you hard Carrie, do you want that?" "Oh. God. Yes. Please!" "Answer the question, why do you want me to fuck you Carrie." "Because I'm a whore! Please" In the moment that Carrie screamed out the word 'whore' in the equipment room in the gym the man thrust into her and began to fuck her with long, hard, forceful strokes. Carrie squirmed and thrust her pelvis into him in time with his rhythm, breathing "oh, oh, oh," with every thrust. Her eyes closed and her back arched and the man could tell she was about to cum and he withdrew his aching cock brutally quickly. "NO, NO, NO!" she cried out and thrust her hand between her legs, which he caught before she could plunge her fingers into her wet pussy. He took that hand and pinned it down to the mat by her head, with his other hand he began to pinch her exposed nipples and he stared into her eyes. She stare back, mouth half open, body moving to best accommodate his hands, hips rotating, searching for the hard cock it had just lost. The man slid his hand down, between her breasts, across her stomach, and onto her pussy; one finger on either side of her clit. He teased her, sliding his fingers around her incredible wetness but never having more than fleeting contact with her clit. He stared at her as his free had slid and roamed all around her pussy, riding her bucking hips. Suddenly he sat up, pulled Carrie off, and bent her over the stack of blue mats. Her nipples brushed against the rough vinyl. The man groaned quietly as he pushed her into the mat with one hand and positioned the head of his dick at the opening of her dripping pussy. He spread her legs apart with his feet to have her as wide open as possible. He slid his cock into her slowly. It wouldn't take long for the man to cum in this position. He slid in and out of her slowly at first but getting faster and harder with every thrust. He reached around and fingered her clit, slipping a finger down and feeling his cock sliding in and out of her. She cried out and began to tremble. A low moan rose in her throat until she was bucking underneath him shouting "Oh God, Oh God" over and over. Near the end he had to grab Carrie around the waist and hold her still as he fucked her. She grunted with every thrust. Watching her cum and the feeling of her hot, wet, spasming pussy gripping his cock as she came drove the man over the edge and he began thrusting into her hard, grunting, grabbing her and holding her still as he came inside her. He pulled out slowly and began walking away. Carrie lay there for a minute then got up and buttoned up her shirt. She walked over to the door and picked up her gym bag. "No, leave that here. You forgot it after the game and will have to pick it up after class tomorrow," the man said from the shadows. She stood there looking down. "I don't want this." She said quietly. "I know about you, Carrie. I know you want it." She stood there for few more seconds, dropped the gym bag and left the equipment room, closing the door behind her. Self-Control I step out of the limousine and into the sodium-yellow of the city lights. Dressed to the nines: sequins and lace and sheer silks. Shoes that cost hundreds, with a heel that I can barely walk in (let alone dance in) but without which the look would be incomplete. Because the point is not function. The point is the form and fit. It's like a hundred other events. Premieres, thousand-a-plate political dinners, grand-re-openings of whatever building has been newly renovated this year. It's like them all, and I'm not even sure what this one is celebrating, only that I have to attend, have to look good on his arm, because that's what my job is. So I'm smiling, taking the hand of that acquaintance, telling him how long it's been, cocking my eyebrow in the way that implies I find him attractive, that I could have been his, if he'd only been as great as my husband is. It's reflexive, born of four years' practice. And it's tedious. But I do it again to the next guy, too. And the next. Because part of the alpha-male dominance game is letting them know what they're missing, and I know what's expected of me. Beatrice Shellesworth, matronly and insipid, takes my hand and marvels at how good I look, and how much she missed me at the charity gala last month. I respond with the appropriate noises, the brimming-over enthusiasm which is supposed to tell her how much I regretted having to make the trip to London for the business conference instead. She is not fooled; she knows the game, too, and was playing it long before I entered the scene. Bitch. I hate them all. Myself not least. Then there's the entrance, with its doormen and luxurious red carpeting, and the elegant table with the gilt-lettered parchment, Mr. and Mrs. Joshua Plantagenet. I'm just Mrs. Him. The wine is typical-- the best doesn't get any better if you've had it seven times in the last year-- and the conversation doubly so. This is all building to a fever pitch for me, and with a fixed smile I excuse myself to powder my nose... and head instead for the exit. My head is ringing, and my ears are buzzing and for some reason tonight, my God, tonight I just can't fucking take this at all for one minute longer and I need to escape. The limo driver looks confused; he's not even pulled away from the line of cars at the curb, yet, and already I'm leaping into the back seat. My face is in my hands, and I'm trying to breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out. Keep it together. "Mrs. Plantagenet, are you okay?" "Mm-hmm," I reply, barely audible. "Uh, I'm getting to the front of the line, soon. Did you... did you want me to take you someplace, or just park across the street?" "No! Get me away from--" I stop myself. I don't need this guy to know how upset I am. I need to regain control. "No, I'm just feeling a bit ill right now. Can you drive around a bit? A long trip would not be bad. With the windows open, for some air?" He nods, looking at me sympathetically. I'm not sure he buys my sickness line, but regardless, he does what I request. *** The city is a cacophony of colored sparkles against a background of concrete gray, and it soothes me in ways that the thrum of the limo engine only touch on. I've always loved the glory of urbanity: the buildings, the way the sound of car horns never abates, even the smell of grease from the local grill, mixed with the barest tang of gasoline fumes. I've heard the complaints, and I can't deny them, but they are outweighed, for me, by the vibrance and the sheer immensity of man's creation, and I love them all the more. It's why I came here. Came so long ago that the city is in my bones, now, but every now and then there is the recollection of that plague of a place where I was born. Of those people who wanted nothing more for me than pregnancy and housekeeping, and who scoffed at and even openly scorned my desires to improve myself and be a part of a larger world. "Stay here and you'll have the love of your family to guide you, the love of good, clean land, and God," that creature who named himself my father had said to me as I packed my bags that last night. "You go to the city and you'll be nothing but a rich man's whore." I damn him for being a sodomizing, incestual sonofabitch. I damn him for the ignorance-loving, self-righteous bumpkin he was. Most of all, though, late at night as I wash Joshua's filth from my soul, I damn him for being right. I'd come to the city, worked my way into the money needed to go to college, and there in some godforsaken class on English composition I'd met my destiny. He'd been quite charming, and willing to spend money to make me happy and keep me happy, and had opened doors to a piece of the city I'd only seen in films and glamour magazines. The shimmer had entranced me even as it had blinded me to the trap I'd walked into, and it wasn't until five years in that I realized when I became his I'd lost all the things that were delightful and unique about myself. And what was more, I knew I'd never have the will to leave. My nausea passes slowly, but the inner demons still haunt me, and it is a while before I see the streets as anything corporeal. When I realize that we have passed the fourth bar denoting "Old Style On Tap", I know we are far from the place I call home and that I will get out here. Somewhere here. Soon. I see a line of people entering the door of a grubby building with no sign and order the driver to stop the car. Here. "Mrs. Plantagenet?" he inquires. "I want to get out here." "Mrs. Plantagenet, I don't think that would be a good idea." "Neither do I." I pop open the door before he can say more and the clicking of my heels gives a response to anything he might still have left unsaid. I cross the street and walk to the front of the line, where a burly man with an untrimmed beard checks identification. I have no handbag or wallet, but either he can read my age on my face or he has looked me up and down and decided I am more of an asset to the establishment than a liability. He gestures for me to enter. I'm grossly out of place here, with my elegant coiffure and my thousand-dollar dress: most of the women here are wearing black and the ones who are not are wearing their underwear as outerwear. Or so it seems to me. The miniature piercings of my ears seem silly and trite next to the piercings in evidence on the rest of the patrons, male and female... and the tightness of the womens' garb makes it evident that other piercings are present and half-concealed. Only my heels are appropriate, and then only due to their height and the sharpness of the points to which they are whittled. No one else is being seen in ivory. It's reassuring. There is a world away from my own, a planet where Joshua doesn't belong and couldn't belong. A place where my life can be a distant memory. I head for a table and order a drink from the obviously-amused barmaid. Something strong is required-- straight vodka, some top-shelf brand named "3". I drop it down and demand another, throwing her my American Express and asking for a tab. It's smooth and not punishing enough. I switch to Popov for the next three. It is there and then that she finds me: blurred vision, slumped atop a bar stool with my hair in disarray from repeatedly, violently throwing the drinks back, smelling of the other patrons' cigarette smoke. She is dressed in white, too, but somehow does not look out of place. "Hello, angel," comes the voice, and I assume it's from her lips. I can't concentrate because the pounding of the music is playing games with my perception. "I'm no angel," I return with a smirk. "I live in hell." "Welcome to heaven, baby," she laughs, grabbing my unresisting hand and dragging me to the dance floor. I can't dance in this state, but I don't need to: she's dancing me around, rubbing herself against me in calculated attempts to arouse me. Successful attempts, I am suprised to discover. I don't love women. Not that way. Not usually. Her arms are wrapped around me, now, her pubic mound grinding into mine as her thighs part my own, slightly. I'm teetering on the edge of unconsciousness and lesbianism and she's the only thing holding me up. I moan into the side of her neck and beg her to take me... "home", I'm thinking, but somehow never get around to adding that word. She wraps me in her strong arms and eases me out a back entrance, where a uniformed woman of her apparent acquaintance waits and helps drag me to a black sedan. The blurriness from the music is gone now, and I'm starting to recover my sanity, and I reach for the door handle to escape, but at a word from her I lose volition. Tears streak down my face as my conflicted emotions struggle for control of my expression. "No, angel," come her words, and this time I can see that her lips have not moved. She brushes aside my tears and tastes their saltiness on her fingers. "You are mine, now. You are mine to control." Her hands have torn the front of my dress askew and my panties are on display. She grins and paws at my pussy through them. My moisture has made the thin fabric slick and her fingers slide easily where she wants them. Where I want them. "You belong to me." No. I don't want to belong to anyone. Not Joshua, not her. No one. But the only thing which can break through my lips is, "I don't... I don't want that. I want to be free." "You have to submit to be free. You have to give up your self-control, but when you do, you can truly be Free." "Free..." I chant back, and my inner muscles contract with the sound of the word, with the sound of her voice, with the sound of my moans. I'm coming, and I cannot stop, and it feels oh so good, and I want to be like this forever. Free. *** I'm wearing white, a cheap dress on a cheaper girl. The tight rayon hides nothing of my body, and I purposely don't shave my cunt because I want it to show through the translucent material when I'm walking down the street. I'm in the artsy side of town, because the high concentration of lesbians there means I get to eat pussy more often, and eating pussy reminds me of who made me this way, and I can come without even touching myself. Come hard. I have to take care to readjust my makeup after each session, because the cunt-smeared lipstick gets onto my cheeks and chin, and even though I love the "painted" look, I've found I get fewer customers that way. Who'd have thought people renting a whore would be so picky about where she'd been last? I'm completely out of control of my life. I'm fucking strangers with the body I call my own, lips coated with come and with pussy almost twenty-four hours a day, and giving Her Ladyship the cash proceeds. But I'm me. I'm not Mrs. Anyone. I'm finally me. Self-Control Maybe he is asleep. Maybe he decided this was nothing to be angry about. Maybe he is waiting for you in bed, happy you're are home safely. Maybe... It's not entirely your fault, you know that is not true, but he may have the patience to hear excuses. You knew your curfew. There is no getting pass that, so just maybe he will be fast asleep. Only as if the world is trying to defy you, you trip on the pile of plush towels you know you were told to put away. You land square on your face, and you weren't quiet about it either. "Alana?" His voice questions from the floor above. You try to shrink into the inky darkness. One drink, that's all you wanted, but your friends wanted more. You had smiled, and then you threw down enough money for three more unaware of the hour. A simple glance at the clock could have saved you from all this trouble. Self-control could have been your hero. "Alana are you down there?" He asks again flicking on a light. You sigh in defeat lifting yourself off the ground. "Yes Sir, I am down here." You call to him, voice trembling. He stomps down the stairs without another word. You know him well enough to know he is furious. You're frozen in place, but what else can you do? No point in trying to explain, you'd never run from your loving master, and you surely would not resist from the punishment you so badly deserved. "Alana Anne! Where the hell have you been?" He bellows grabbing your face in between his thumb and index fingers. No reason to lie. "I was at the bar. I didn't mean to stay out so late Sir." You whimper. You hadn't intended on giving excuses, but they roll off your tongue without consent. "I called you, three times." He growls releasing your face. Fat tears roll down your stinging cheeks. "My phone died..." You admit hesitantly. He told you not to leave if your phone wasn't going to last. You had ignored him too busy with your hair. "You go to your room and get ready for me." He spits turning away from you. You're completely ashamed of your irresponsible behavior. Slowly you creep up the stairs, and into your room. A punishment awaits you, but again you deserve whatever is coming. You know just how he wants you. You strip yourself of your clothing and kneel in the corner, thighs open slightly. There is nothing arousing in the thought of your master being angry at you, yet even though the thought of him being angry at you is one of the worst feelings, the thought of him being disappointed causes hot tears to stream down your face. You hear him walk in. He sits on your bed without a word. You don't dare to speak or move. "Come here." He sighs, disappointment coating his tone. You crawl over to him eyes casted on the ground; you can't bare to look at his face. He pats his lap. "Come on, I don't have all night." You crawl into his lap quickly not wanting to upset him any further. His hand rest on your bottom for a moment, then it's pulled away, only to come back down against your behind. His hand slaps across your bottom leaving stingy, red blotches. "You could have called, told me you were going to stay later, that is all you had to do." He began. You know he is right; all you had to do was call. You try not to squirm or interfere, but your hands shoot back involuntarily. He simply grabs them and continues spanking you. "I was worried sick. Do you EVEN care?" He chastises. More tears roll down your flushed cheeks. "Please Sir! I'm so sorry!" You plead knowing it's no use. He gives one final slap before putting you on the ground in front of him. You look up at him with sad eyes. He ignores you, and pulls out his semi hard member. He knots his hand in your hair and pushes you down. You gag as he slides down your throat cutting off your airway. He thrust his self in and out of your mouth groaning. Only momentarily does he pull out, giving you few seconds to gasp for air. "You deserve this." You remind yourself as he face fucks you. He lets out a deep moan before he coats the inside of your mouth with his cum. You resist the urge to swallow. "Spit it out." He orders harshly. You let out a small cry before letting his seed dribble down your chin. You think this might be the end of your punishment. You thought wrong. "You don't deserve this." He says sternly reaching to remove the choker you wore to replace your leather collar. "No! No, no, no! Sir please, no!" You sob as he pulls it off harshly. "I won't have you represent me until you learn how to behave. Go to bed." He growls leaving your room. You reach to touch your neck. Your heart aches with pain. He took away your collar. You would take any kind of punishment in the world over this. Your sobs turn into hushed hiccups. In the morning you will kneel at your master's feet naked. You will beg for forgiveness, and he will look at your sternly preparing to lecture you. When he's done he will scoop you into his arms and reassure you on his love for you. On this lighter note, you fall asleep, clutching your bare neck. Maybe now you have learned self-control can be your best friend. Maybe...