It was amazing and enthralling. With a simple look, I would fall to my knees, my head would lower, my hormones would rage and I would be yearning to have him touch me in any way he desired. Avenues opened before me which I had never contemplated before.
We would meet at the bar and, more often than not, he would drag me to the darkened alley or his car for a quick blow job. I became an expert at satisfying him as well as climaxing as soon as he finished and moved his hand to my sex for a couple of quick thrustings of his fingers before telling me I could cum.
Then he'd drag me back into the bar and show off the girl he commanded which seemed to cause envy among his friends. I was his and I preened at the treatment. It didn't take me long to figure out that, if I wanted to ensure another interlude before we left for the evening, I needed to stoke the desire of his friends. It seemed that there was a direct correlation between their sexual interest and envy and his erection. I learned that lesson the hard way.
We had met three times and, apparently, the novelty had worn off. For him. I was incredibly content to gaze worshipfully at him and ignore everyone else. So it was impossible to miss the way he slammed down his beer late one evening as he sneered maliciously and grabbed my arm to propel me from the pub.
Instead of pushing me into his car, against a wall or to my knees, he spun me to face him and shook me as he growled in outrage. What, he wanted to know, was wrong with me. Terrified and confused, I asked him what I had done wrong. To which he carefully explained that I was supposed to turn him on and he wanted a slut, not a miss prim and proper.
When I began to reach for him, he slapped my face then turned me and shoved my face to the hood of his car. Lifting my skirt and holding it with the hand pinned against my neck, he ripped my panties to my knees. Before I knew it, his hand was violently slamming against my ass. When I cried out, he told me to shut up and listen. As each blow of his hand fell, he gave me instructions. I would wear very short skirts, I would not wear panties or a bra, I would wear see through or very low cut shirts. I would shave my pussy and give people teasing views of myself. I would draw attention to my tits by stroking them now and again. If he told me to get him a drink, I would bend over the bar and show my ass. If I was allowed to dance with someone, I would hump against his hard on. In short, my job was to drive people wild with desire for me. Did I understand?
Sobbing, I nodded. Outraged, he hit my ass even harder and told me to answer him. And when I did, he impaled my flaming ass, driving into my anus without warning or concern. He thrust rapidly, holding my neck still pinned, his other hand digging into my flaming cheeks, the nails biting into the abused flesh. When he finished, he pushed off from me and practically vaulted into his car. As the engine started, I stood, confused and shocked, pathetically crying as I looked at him, pleading for some compassion or line of safety in my upended dream.
He rolled down the window. "Get over it. A true sub enjoys anal. You are a true sub, aren't you?" When I said I was, he told me he would see me on Friday night. And then sped away.
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