the storm that rushed through so much of the country passed our village by without stirring as much as one leaf.
as it was fresh and bright i had intended to take a brisk walk along the sea path. i have still not entirely acclimatised to village life and my long walks along the cliffs help to prevent my becoming too restless - a dangerous condition for me in such a confined community. but before i can set out C presents herself at the front door.
she does not quite look herself and it takes me a moment or two to correctly identify what is different about her.
'Lipstick...!"
'what?'
'you are wearing lipstick!' i state.
C seems undecided whether she should look pleased that i have noticed. I look at her more carefully. she is wearing a rather pretty blouse and fitted skirt, and quite delicate shoes with an even more delicate heel - not her usual mode of dress at all.
'come in,' i instruct.
her hips move a little awkwardly - the product of the unfamiliar shoes.
'don't sit,' i tell her, firmly. 'i'd rather you stood.. for now'
with some deliberation i circle her. as on the previous occasion i can already scent her arousal and have not difficultly observing the quiver of her haunches as she tries to maintain her balance on the skinny heels.
i set myself immediately behind her.
'how many times have you masturbated since you were last here?'
there's a moment, fleeting, where i can sense that she is preparing to lie. her shoulders almost stiffen in denial, rising almost, before they fall and the truth tumbles from her.
'seven,' she says, her voice faint. 'seven times.'
she seems almost in awe of this number.
'how many times did you... orgasm?'
'more,' she offers, no hesitation now. 'much more......!'
'and you are wet.. again!' it is a statement.
'yes'
'and swollen...'
'yes'
though i am behind her i can tell that she has already begun to press at her swollen clit though her skirt. this is her habit and she has come to expect it of herself.
'stop playing!' my tone is sharp, and she reacts pleasingly promptly.
'put your hands where i can see them.'
again, she complies, though her hands tremble she keeps them turned outwards as instructed.
'did i tell you could play with your cunt?'
'no'
'did you ask permission to play with your cunt?'
'no'
'then don't play with your cunt...!'
women often make the mistake of thinking that i have a particular interest in their.. cunts. i do not. i am far more interested in what is in their heads.
'what do you think about as you wank that pretty clit of yours?' i inquire, calmly.
'in my head?' her voice matches the tremble of her hands.
'i... i can't... stop you...'
'i fuck you... in your head.. and you can't stop me?'
she nods.
'do you try to stop me?'
she nods.
'but i.. can't.'
'and that makes you cum...?'
she nods.. again.
'and is that all?'
i hear her try to swallow but her mouth is dry now and her tongue seems fixed against the roof of her mouth.
'not al.. no. you do... terrible things to me...'
'terrible...?'
she swallows at last.
'unnatural things... and i can't... stop you.'
this is quite a common feature of such women. long suppressed desires, often dark, transferred into 'near rape' fantasy (and it is only fantasy. in their head they abdicate responsibility for their arousal to another. they, they tell themselves, are not the sort of woman who longs to have a fat cock thrust down their throats, or slipped into their arses... so, in their heads, such things could only ever be forced upon them...
these are someone else's desires, they tell themselves.
they are wrong of course. and, over time, they learn to accept the truth. that the darkness is as much theirs as mine...
we are all nothing more, or less, than the things that are inside our heads...
