I have the full permission of the author to post this free erotic story.
[intlink id=”454″ type=”post”]Find out more about Madeline here[/intlink].
“Roll ‘em!” I swung my right leg so wide my mini slid up my thighs until my naked cunt was exposed. I held that pose for a good thirty seconds while the people in the lineup gaped and gasped and snapped shots of my snatch with their cell phones. Then I swung my other leg out and stepped into the neon night. Sherelle was doing the same out the other side of the cab, so it was double exposure. The bald, built-like-a-tank dude she’d convinced to play bodyguard rumbled out of the front seat and there we were – not quite entourage and not quite posse but maybe famous, for something, somewhere.
Sherelle had a dark, voluptuous, mysterious thing going on and I was the debutante type, with silky blonde hair and teacup tits. I was the one who sticks out her nonexistent belly in pictures. Sherelle was the one who puckers up and blows kisses.
So we were gorgeous and young and commando under our micro minis, plus we had this bodyguard in tow and that was enough to get us straight into the club, at least on this particular night.
A great club dazzles me when I step inside. It’s like landing on Mars or doing acid. Sherelle nudged me and pointed at her nose. This was her oh-so-subtle way of reminding me that I was in charge of the nose candy for the night. I’d tried but hadn’t come up with more than a few oxycontin we could crush for a hillbilly high. I shrugged, like, “Sorry, no drugs, who gives a shit.” This was true for me, but Sherelle always had to be high when we went clubbing. It was beginning to bug me. Anyway if it’s so fucking important to her club experience, why doesn’t she get her own fucking drugs?
Our bodyguard brought us a couple of drinks. I liked having him around. I toasted Sherelle and knocked back a slug of my beer. Sherelle pouted and sucked on her girlie drink. After a few more she’d forget about the drugs, a few more after that and she’d remember again. Maybe by then I’d have scored some K or J – certainly some E. E for everywhere.
I winked at the bodyguard. He had a soul patch, a look I actually hate, but have learned to live with. His eyes were puppy dog brown and his lips were surprisingly red for a guy. He didn’t seem like the type for makeup but you never know. Maybe he was a screaming queer. “I love your Britney look,” I yelled, pointing at his bald head. “I’m rooting for her, too.” I hitched my halter top up to show him the double lips I’d temporarily tattooed on my back. He laughed. I don’t know if he got what I was talking about but he showed enough interest in my body to settle the question of sexual taste.
Sherelle and I hit the dance floor, grinding against each other while our bodyguard kept the hounds at bay. I loved making a big show of it so I tugged my mini higher, past the tops of my stayups, so high up my hip there’d have been a line even if I’d been wearing a thong, so everyone knew I was commando. I think it’s funny that if you are covered up with a teeny tiny triangle of satin it’s okay, but go without and it’s a scandal. I wondered if Perez Hilton would make the scene but it didn’t really matter. I’d never get on his site until I really was famous, naked slit or no. But TMI had been known to check out this club and that was the main reason I was there.
We danced and drank and necked with each other and a few emo type guys that were skinny enough to squeeze by our bodyguard. Then Sherelle started whining about drugs again and I went hunting. I saw a few guys I knew but I wasn’t interested in any of them. I felt like paying for it the good old fashioned way, blow for blow, and I’d already sampled their wares, their dope and their dicks. I wanted good quality.
I like sucking cock. You suck a guy’s dick and he’s putty in your hands, except for his dick which is like nothing else, ever. It’s hard as a bone but it’s alive. It’s a living bone, covered in translucent skin that’s stretched so tight in some places the veins stand out, and topped with a fat, drooling, one-eyed head. I love it. Then the guy starts to come and he’s helpless, even though he’s standing on two legs and I’m kneeling like a toy poodle at his feet. I just keep going, keeping it steady, letting him know I’m going to swallow, and he thrusts and shoots and whoops with joy. When he thinks it’s over I look up and some cute tuff guy is practically sobbing above me, and I let a little come dribble down my chin. Another little shot of jism and he’s sucked dry. I swear I bring real tears to their eyes.
And then I get what I want. Or in this case what Sherelle wanted, and I wanted Sherelle for my BFF, so like I said I get what I want.
Jimmy popped up at my side. He was a skinny, nervous type but he had a cute face. He was wearing a necktie and a wife beater, but his eyes were so black he looked like his wife had beaten him. I figured it just meant he was high. I winked at him and he followed me into the girl’s can. We wedged into a stall together and he cut me a line on top of the toilet paper dispenser. I snuffed it up. It was good stuff. I nodded. He snorted a line as well and said, “What’re you gonna gimme for it?” We started madly making out. It was hot. He was a fantastic kisser, with a lush mouth and tongue tricks like nobody’s business. I was impressed. But we could neck all night out on the dance floor.
I couldn’t get down on my knees in such a small space so I took him out of his pants and jerked him off. He slid his hand under my skirt. I laughed when he found no panties, just a hot bare twat waiting for him. I put one leg up on the toilet seat and he fingered me with surprising finesse. The sound of whining girls outside the stall just made it better. I felt like I really was famous and they were being forced to wait till I was done.
Jimmy was taking his sweet time coming and all his fingering was starting to make me need to pee. I needed a whole lot of attention before I could come and it wasn’t likely to happen in the can so I sped up the pace until only a dead man could resist. He spurted, mostly into my hand but a little bit on my skirt. Once he was finished I just plopped down on the toilet seat and started to pee. I think that was the part Jimmy the perv liked best. I reached for the toilet paper with my messy hand and held the clean one out to him. He slipped a little packet to me and zipped up and we hurried out of the stall, just in time, too. Some bitch had complained to the management and since we weren’t really famous we were seconds away from getting ejected. As it was we breezed past the staff on our way out. I wiped my mouth, just to let the girls in the line-up think I’d been blowing him and leave ’em wondering how.
So Sherelle got what she wanted and I’d had some of what I wanted, but like I said, I loved sucking cock and what I thought I really wanted was to wrap my mouth around a real beauty and lick and suck and twirl and lap and moan and hum and gobble and gurgle all over it. I wanted to render some gorgeous dude powerless with my mouth and hands, or maybe just my mouth. Look ma, no hands!
I thought that made me a bad girl but now I know better, because now I know how bad I can be. Anyway, I figured I was doing okay. Going places. I knew I’d leave my mark, someday, on the world – it’s just that on weekends I liked to leave a bright pink mark on at least one gorgeous dick. That’s all.
Sherelle and the bodyguard guy had disappeared from the dance floor so I started dancing by myself, but not for long. Jimmy found me and pressed close. I let him. I was beginning to like his style. We dirty danced for a bit and I was just about to suggest we find a really dark corner when he whispered, “I’m in love with you.”
“Shut up,” I replied.
“I mean it,” he said.
“Word.”
All of a sudden the club was buzzing. I saw the cameraman and the lights and I knew – TMI! OMG! I cranked up the dirty dancing, grinding against Jimmy and making sure my ass and my pussy were showing, but yeah, that’s all pretty much been done so I wasn’t surprised when it failed to get their attention. Desperation made me crazy, that and the stupid stuff Jimmy was droning in my ear.
I grabbed him by the knot of his tie and said, ‘Man up.’ He broke into a dazzling smile, which turned me on and pissed me off at the same time so I pushed him across the dance floor, not stopping until we’d hit a wall.
“What do you want from me?” Now that I was really looking at his face, the dark marks around his eyes were obviously not from drugs, or makeup. They were the fading finale of old bruises.
“Hit me,” he said. ‘Please?”
So I did. I smacked him across the face, first striking one cheek with my open palm, then backhanding the other. It was a good thing I was still holding him by the knot of his tie because his knees buckled. A bunch of stuff happened all at once. My pussy started mewling and seeping and sending urgent messages to my clit. It was sick. Made me moan. Jimmy’s pale cheeks turned red and I wanted to smack them again, to make them brighter red, and again, until they were scarlet, so I did and they did and the whole time we were bathed in hot, bright light.
TMI was right there. The camera was really rolling, just for me. The guy asked, “Who are you?”
“I’m Dez,” I said, the name I’d settled on should I ever get my moment. “This is my very bad boy.” I curled my hand into a little fist and punched Jimmy in the belly, letting go of his tie at the same time so he fell to his knees. “Eat me,” I ordered and he shoved up my mini until my bare snatch was exposed.
The TMI guy laughed and said “Got it!”
The high stayed with me for days and I’m not only talking about the high that came with all the online media coverage of me, which was awesome. The real high, the one that’s lasted from that day to this, comes from beating up my beautiful masochistic baby boy. We love it. It turns me on a hundred times more than sucking cock does and that’s a lot. I always end up coming until my knees are as weak as Jimmy’s when I punched him in the gut for the first time.
I dumped Sherelle. I might’ve dumped Jimmy too, because I really don’t like spending time with dopers or dealers, but once he had me taking care of his nasty needs he quit dosing.
My high was always about power. Like a lot of stuff, it’s easy to see now that I’ve figured it out. I just express it in a different way, these days. Let’s just say I’m rarely the one on my knees, now. I have a different name, too. I’m known as Domina Dez. I’m known. My look is different now, too. Sometimes I go commando and sometimes I don’t; it doesn’t matter. Either way believe me when I say I’m always the one wearing the pants.