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I’m getting more and more into this idea as time passes. I know it’s wrong and I definitely think it’s bat-shit crazy. I’m always the one to act fairly normal.
Normally, Dasha is the psycho woman in the friend group. But tonight, he chose me and I want to show him I’m game.
Tonight, I want to be bad.
“Peel away those panties,” he growls. “Show me that cunt.”
There’s that word again, spoken without regard. Twice
now.
“Do you always talk this way to women?” I ask.
“You know you enjoy it. Don’t play games,” he says.
For a moment, I’m silent.
I shouldn’t want this, but my emotions are out of control. This is the first time anything like this has ever happened to me.
His voice is like dark chocolate and aged red wine. It’s deep and refined, with a slight accent. His moan sends goose bumps across the flesh of my neck.
“You’re right,” I breathe into the receiver. “I like it. A lot.”
“A good girl likes to follow orders,” he moans. “There’s no shame in admitting it.”
Trembling, I do what he asks of me.
I slide off my panties.
I feel so wrong. This isn’t like me. I know I shouldn’t be doing this. I’m acting like an absolute lunatic.
There’s no going back now.
“Slowly,” he warns. “I want to really see you.”
Bending, I drag the cotton, until it reaches my ankles.
“There you go,” he smiles.
“Are you satisfied?” I ask, hoping that he isn’t.
“A little,” he says. “But I need you to come for me.”
My face turns hot. “You can’t be serious,” I say.
“I’m very serious,” he says. “I wouldn’t be having this conversation, sacrificing my time just to see you take off your panties. If I wanted a lap dance, I’d go to a strip club. No, I want more. Much more.”
I say nothing. I just eye him and place my hand over my clit and lips, shielding it for a second.
I’m so wet.
I glance to see if anyone is near, and I just go for it.
I glide my wetness around my hood, quickly gliding back to play with my clit.
“Yes, baby,” he moans. “How does it feel to be bad?”
“It feels so good,” I groan. “Better than I imagined.”
