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Good girls don’t let men they don’t know touch their panties. Good girls don’t let those men slip a finger underneath. I thought I was a good girl, but that was then. Now I’m sitting at a bar with my legs spread and there’s a man kissing me and touching me, and I’m loving it.
I don’t know if Thorn is this guy’s real name. If it is, it’s kind of weird. Maybe it’s a last name. I don’t know. I don’t really care, either, though. I’m just enjoying the way he’s making me feel because ever since that night in college, I haven’t felt this way.
It’s funny because I’d forgotten all about that moment. I’d forgotten how I let the music get to me, how I let the alcohol warm my body and excite my soul. I felt brave climbing on that table. I felt sexy stripping my shirt off, throwing it to the floor. I felt like a star when I took off my bra.
I felt wanted.
Desired.
Gorgeous.
Something happened after college, though. Something changed. I wasn’t wild after that. I settled into the routine of being a good adult and somehow, that meant focusing on responsibility and good behavior. In the grown-up world, there has never seemed like a good time or place to cut loose.
Until now.
And while part of my brain argues that I should be sweet, that I should be self-controlled, there’s another part of me says fuck it.
That part of me is winning tonight.
Master Thorn strokes my panties. His fingers run over the center and hovers over my clit. Every part of my body feels alive. My heart threatens to explode as he touches me, and I close my eyes and just breathe.
Everything around me disappears.
I’m not noticing the music.
I don’t hear the voices.
I’ve forgotten about my friends.
The only thing that matters right now is Master Thorn. His voice grounds me as he touches me. He’s going to make me fly. I can already tell. It’s just a matter of when he decides I’m ready.
And somehow, I understand that, suddenly. This entire thing isn’t just a game people play for fun. It’s about surrender. It’s about trust. It’s about vulnerability. Master Thorn can give me pleasure beyond anything I’ve ever imagined, but I don’t get to beg or rush him.
I have to wait.
I have to be patient
I have to submit.
“I’m not submissive,” I whisper, breaking the silence.
“No?” He keeps touching me. “You seem pretty submissive to me right now.”
“This isn’t how I normally am.”
“Maybe that’s because you don’t have a chance to let your true self out. Maybe you’re absolutely submissive, but you’ve never had the opportunity to explore this before.”
“I don’t know,” I whisper, suddenly struck by the strangeness of the situation.
“Trust me,” he whispers. His lips are by my ear. The way we’re sitting at the bar, no one can see what he’s doing to me. Then again, this is a sex club, so maybe everyone can see. Maybe everyone notices how close we are to one another, how my legs are spread wide. I’m facing the bar, so no one can see my panties.
No one can see my blush but Thorn.
And something tells me he loves it.
Something tells me he’s enjoying every bit of the way I’m flushing as he touches me, as he brings me closer and closer to orgasm.
“Tell me something, pretty girl.”
