SwingLifeStyle.com
Create a Free Swingers Account today!

Free Erotic Stories

SwingLifeStyle Free Erotic Stories are written and submitted by our members Sit back and enjoy "Control".


Become a Free Member - Submit a Story
 

Control

I was pressed against the outside of my car. His left hand was down my jeans, his index finger and thumb lightly stroking my clit. Despite the fact that my panties were soaked, I was skittish about headlights crossing over us or an approaching thumping sound system.
What if someone I know sees us? What if a cop comes by and arrests us for… I don’t know, indecent public behavior? Would we have to spend the night in jail? Will they let him wash his hands, or will he have to get fingerprinted with my juices dried on his fingers?
I pulled away from a kiss and grabbed at his crotch, trying to get a grip. I can never tell where a guy's penis is going to be. Down, up, right, left? I typically just grab and hope something gets hard to give me a clue, hope I don't look like a moron grabbing at his wallet or his phone or his keys.
"Look, you either need to take me somewhere and fuck me, or let me go home," I said as authoritatively as I could.
It was late March. Spring had already melted most of the winter snow, but it was still cold. Not cold enough that our breath was making clouds in the air, but cold enough that I was starting to shiver.
"Oh, I'll fuck you dear, believe me, but not tonight. Kiss me," he half-spoke, half-whispered, leaning forward, mouth slightly open.
I complied, trying a different tactic in between our lips connecting.
"Please," I tried to sound earnest without being too whiny. "Please Alec, I want you so badly. I think we could have a lot of fun. Please?"
His finger moved and he dipped his digit a little lower, pressing against my labia for a moment before returning to my clit. The motion made me inhale sharply and my knees buckled, my pussy aching to be penetrated by his finger.
He caught me with his right arm and pressed me harder against the car. My hands were gripping his shirt, pulling him to me, my hips writhing, trying to get to his finger. How long had I been doing that?
"Tell me how bad you want me, Julie," he whispered in my ear and began kissing my neck.
I felt my eyes roll as I stretched my neck up to meet his mouth. My head rested on the edge of the car roof and I looked up at the night sky.
Indigo, I thought. The sky is starless and indigo, not "black and starless" like it's usually described in poems and stories describing tragedy or longing. Longing… I feel stupid. What am I doing wrong? “Take me somewhere and fuck me, please?” What guy wouldn't take a girl up on that? Too slutty? We've spent time together and made out before, it seems like at the very least oral sex of some sort is the next logical step...
"I think you can feel how badly I want you," I answered. "We could just get in my car and I could straddle you in the passenger seat—I have condoms—please?" I nuzzled his ear, ran my hands along his back.
He ignored my plea.
"How do you want me?" he asked, his finger dipping low again, my body reacting the same way it had before.
I was starting to get irritated. We’d known each other through mutual friends for a couple years and I had flirted with him as much as I could. I was throwing myself at him and he was toying with me.
"Oh sweetie, I'll take you any way you want to let me have you," I answered. I then remembered what every guy I'd ever talked to about sex complained about the most—that they had to do all the work. "You don't have to do anything if you don't want to,” I added quickly, “You could just let me ride you."
I kissed him, trying to focus on being forceful, aggressive, making sure I want you radiated from my actions. My hands had lost all strategy—I was clawing at him, trying to pull him to me, and he wouldn’t allow it, standing back a bit with his hand still down my pants. I wanted his clothes off, I wanted to feel his skin against mine, I wanted to feel him inside me. Why wasn't he letting me?
He gently pulled away, sinking his teeth lightly into my lower lip. I let out a small whine.
"Do you want to control me, or do you want to be controlled?" he asked softly.
The question surprised me. My hands stopped, holding tight to some of the fabric of his shirt. I felt my head move back and my eyes narrow as they met his gaze. I tried to calculate what answer would get me out of the cold and somewhere where he would let me have him. I had to have him. What answer would turn him on the most?
"Oh darling, I'd love to see you tied to a bed and begging for mercy, but I do get tired of…" I trailed off, breaking eye contact, staring at the sidewalk, the bits of glass in the concrete glittering in the light of the street lamp. I sighed, my hands loosening the grip on his shirt, palms going flat against his chest.
I wasn't going to finish that sentence. He already had me begging him to fuck me, and I'd never had to beg anyone to fuck me. I was frustrated, I was embarrassed, and I was cold. It was time to give up. This wasn’t going to happen.
Figure out how to get out of here graciously and don’t bother contacting him again. See him around and be cordial, don’t allow him to walk me to my car again, he won’t care. Hopefully he won whatever game he’s playing. Oh well, I tried.
He grabbed my throat with his right hand and squeezed lightly. I gasped and jumped, the sudden motion jolting my whole body.
"You're sick of always being in control, aren't you?"
His brown eyes looked black.
I was breathing rapidly. I opened my mouth to respond, but a shuddering gasp was the only sound that would escape. I couldn't feel the rest of my body. I'd lost track of my hands. My eyes closed. I saw mental images of my calendar, reminder notes stuck at various eye level points around the house, lists of things to do, bills in the order they were due stacked neatly in the corner of my desk, my carefully folded underwear drawer, my shelves of alphabetized DVDs.
"You want someone else to take control for once, don't you?" He was whispering in my ear, his breath hot. I pursed my lips and felt my chin attempt to drop, but his hand on my neck wouldn't allow it. He squeezed a bit more.
"Don't you?"
"Yes," I whispered.
He let go and chuckled softly.

End of Story