Your gateway to endless inspiration
Sometimes I write these updates out on the train to work to be published later. I always hope that a woman is going to be sat next to me, reading what’s typed out of the corner of her eye. After a few minutes she’d lean over and whisper “Don’t worry, little boy. Mummy’s found you.”
A few days ago I talked about a fantasy I’d dreamt up about an ex-colleague I disliked (and, for the record, still do). This is a continuation of that, a scenario that I wouldn’t really be totally against getting into in real life…
I wake up naked in N’s bed. I can remember snapshots from the night before. I remember nodding along passively as N talked at me. I remember drinking a delicious drink. I remember finding myself in N’s flat and wanting, needing, to be naked and kissing her feet. I remember being overcome with the need to apologise to her again and again and again. And I remember having hot, sweaty sex. N had me take her from behind and, once she’d cum, had sat on my face to be licked clean.
I didn’t remember cumming myself. Because I hadn’t.
Now N is nestled against me, her naked body warm and her limbs entwined with mine. I realise I’m taking this all in very calmly and that what I actually want to do is scream and shake her awake and ask her what she’s done to me. I want to leave. I want to be gone. I want to escape whatever this situation is and pretend it never happened. I want out. But I don’t move. I lie still and watch N sleep peacefully.
Eventually N stirs and looks up at me, smiles lazily and gives me a good morning. I feel myself instinctively smile as she looks at me. I want to shake myself away from her but instead I lie there passively, smiling like an idiot. She tells me I look good when I smile, that it’s a nice improvement on my usual scowl, and I should do it more often. I want to tell her off for this, for telling me that I scowl when I actually don’t. I want to tell her I show my happiness as normally and naturally as anyone else. But I also love that she’s complimented me and want more. I want to meekly thank her.
Then her hand is on my erect penis and she’s giggling and telling me it needs taking care of. But no, that’s wrong. It’s not a penis. It’s a peeny. I have a little, unimpressive peeny and I’m very lucky N is touching it. I open my mouth to try and speak. I don’t know what I want to say. Do I want to demand answers? Do I want to thank her? Do I want to ask her to take care of my little erection? No sound comes out. My jaw just hangs open and I find that I’m vacantly staring into N’s eyes. She tells me I look stupid, so very very stupid. But she likes me to look stupid because that’s my true self. And she’s stroking me slowly and firmly, telling me how stupid and boring and rude I am, but that she’ll help me improve and become a better boy. I find I’m nodding along as I stare into her eyes, and then her pace quickens for just a few seconds and I’m cumming and cumming and cumming, grunting and moaning and humping her hand. I can feel my cock pulsing and jetting liquid into her hand, one of the most powerful orgasms of my life. And she’s telling me what a good boy I am and at that moment I so so so desperately want to be that good boy. I want to impress N. I want her approval and love and acceptance. In that moment gaining these things from her is the most important thing in the world to me.
N continues talking, informing and guiding my stupid, rude, inferior mind with her words. I’m rolling onto my front and propping myself onto all fours. And then she’s sitting in front of me and her hand appears below my face and I’m lapping up the salty treat she’s offering me. N is laughing and telling me I’m being so good, so very good. She asks me if it tastes nice. I can’t answer, I’m too busy licking her hand clean. But N seems to know this and tells me she knows I love the taste and I realise I do love the taste, she’s absolutely right. And I’m vaguely aware again of how much I hate her but I’m also grateful and thankful and I love her and need her to approve of me.
Then her hand is pressed to my face, smearing the sticky liquid all over my cheeks and lips and chin before drawing away and patting my head, wiping herself clean on my hair. N’s still laughing. She’s laughing at how stupid I look. She’s laughing at getting away with treating me like this, revelling in her acts of humiliation. I feel angry and weak, my cheeks burn with the impotence of embarrassment. She’s telling me I should thank her for such a delicious morning treat and my hatred for her sears again. She reaches forward and roughly grasps my jaw, raising my eyes to look into hers. I’m told to thank her. Her voice is icy, sharp, commanding.
I tell her I love her and thank her. She laughs uproariously. Then she’s laying back and guiding my face to her crotch. I immediately kiss and lick and suck, desperate to please and make her happy. Internally I’m screaming at this, desperate to walk out, close my eyes, just stop! But outwardly I’m passionate and attentive and I can hear myself making mewls of pleasure, blissful little sounds that indicate nothing but abject happiness. N is breathing heavily, gasping, and occasionally giving instructions which I cannot quite recall but that I know I followed immediately. I hear her tell me to thank her again and I do, my lips brushing against her lower ones as I do so.
This tips her over the edge. N giggles and squeals and moans in delight as she orgasms. After a few moments of leaving me to continue attending to her she lifts my head from her crotch and we each kneel on the bed looking into one another’s eyes. N tells me she’ll let me stay if I want to and I ask her very, very nicely. I’m furious at her arrogance and desperate, frantic, to get up and run, just run as fast and as far as I can away from her and whatever it is she’s done and is continuing to do to me. I open my mouth, determined to scream and swear and rant and threaten and declare that nothing could make me want to stay.
“I love you, N. Please, oh please, oh please may I stay here with you and be made into a better person? I want it. I need it! I’m sorry I was rude and arrogant and naughty. Please please please? I love you!” I hear myself say.
She giggles and tells me she’ll think about it as she takes hold of my head and pushes my face back down into her crotch.
To expand on this…
The woman in question, let’s call her N, took an immediate dislike to me when we worked together. She’d talk over me, make personal comments about me, interrupt conversations I was having. When she found out I was dating a girl N told her she should break up with me. There was even an occasion where N sent me an unprompted Facebook message that began “So something about me is, I can’t abide negative people.”
Seems pretty clear from that she saw me as negative, right? I don’t know for sure because I never confronted her about it. I’m not particularly good at that sort of thing and by the time of the message I was just trying to interact with her as little as possible. I don’t think I was (or am) negative. But I am very shy and not particularly outgoing, not getting especially chatty with people until I’ve gotten to know them. This clearly came across to N as rudeness. But I’d say interrupting conversations, loudly declaring your most recent ailment to a staff room, and making comments about people you haven’t taken the time or effort to get to know is rude behaviour. More rude than someone who just feels a bit uncomfortable talking in a crowded room to someone he doesn’t really know.
I say all this for context because N is the woman I mentioned in the reblogged post above. And I’ve been thinking about a scenario involving her since. N and I are both still working in the same industry so it’s not impossible we’d end up seeing one another through work at some point. And this is what I kind of sort of actually definitely low key want to happen if we do…
I see N is at the function soon after arriving and spend a while trying to avoid her. Eventually she comes over, smiling and hello-ing like we’re old friends instead of people who have a mutual dislike then talks at me for several minutes, offering me no way into the conversation. I stay and listen and nod along because this is a work thing and I don’t want to appear rude to anyone. Walking away isn’t an option.
After a few minutes of talking N suggests I try a drink from a nearby table. Awkwardly, I say no thanks, not wanting to give her the satisfaction. But she keeps on, maybe draws a few people nearby into proceedings until, just wanting to shut her up, I relent and take a swig. Then another. And another. Because it is actually quite good.
And at this point N casually switches course and tells me I was very rude to her when we used to work together. She reminds me I never joined in with her discussions and debates in the staff room, tells me that I should have done. I was arrogant and rude and obnoxious, N says. And I find I can’t reply. I don’t really want to either. I take another mouthful of the drink and realise she’s right. I really was very unfair to her and owe her an apology. But I don’t seem to be able to speak right now and besides, N is still talking. I shouldn’t interrupt her. That would be rude and I’ve already been too rude to her as it is.
The function spins on around us. N keeps talking and I realise I’m feeling a little dizzy. N steadies me as I lose my balance, gets me into a chair and settles down beside me. It’s lucky she was here, N says, otherwise I might have fallen and hurt myself. She tells me I owe her a thank you now, as well as an apology. I try to open my mouth to speak again but still can’t. This time I slur out something not even I can make out and realise I’m drooling. I’m drooling and N is laughing. She tells me not only am I rude but I’m boring party company too. But, she says, I was boring for her to work with so that’s not a surprise. I feel incredibly, monumentally guilty for being so appalling to N. First I was rude and boring at work, now I’m doing it years later at a party. I’m really lucky she’s still interested in talking to me. Did I think that or did she say it? One or the other. Or maybe it was both.
N tells me I look dehydrated and helps me by lifting some more of that absolutely delicious drink to my lips, wiping the drool away as she does so. I gratefully, hungrily accept the drink and hope N can see how much I appreciate her in this moment. Then I’m getting even dizzier and things go blurry and fuzzy for a while. Then I’m in the back of a cab and for a moment I panic because I don’t know how I got here and I don’t even think I can tell the driver where I need to go. But it’s okay. N is here. I don’t need to worry, she’s taking care of everything, she tells me. I feel relieved, pleased N is here to think for me.
We’re inside. But it’s unfamiliar. Not my flat. I don’t know where I am. Now I’m sitting down. Sitting down on the floor. That’s the best place for me. I can’t fall off the floor. And it feels nice to be down beneath N, looking up at her. I can make out the occasional glimpse up her dress as she moves around the room talking to me. She tells me those glimpses are probably the most erotic thing I’ve ever seen and I nod slowly but eagerly that yes, they absolutely are. Or did I just think that and nod agreement to my own thought?
Then N is right above me, looking down at me. I look up at her and feel myself smile broadly. She tells me I still owe her an apology and a thank you and I manage to slur out some sounds that might be a thank you, an apology. But N doesn’t think so, so it was probably just me being rude and making silly sounds. N reminds me that a great way to show sorrow is to kiss someone’s feet and beg for forgiveness. She suggests I try that, and that when I move on to thanking her I can add a thank you for allowing me to kiss her feet.
And then I’m doing it. I’m slurring words I can’t comprehend as I cover N’s feet with kisses and licks. I’m trying to praise and thank and love her feet, because that’s what they deserve, but I know I’m not doing them and her justice. And I’m humping as well. Humping a cushion that has appeared on the floor and it feels so nice on my dick, only N is telling me a rude, immature boy like me doesn’t have a dick. I have a peeny.
The next thing I know is N is down on her knees, telling me I should be naked. I should want to be naked when I’m before her. She’s helping take my clothes off and away. And I realise she’s right, I want to be naked and exposed and humping at N’s feet. And I am. She’s stood back up and I’m kissing her bare heels and looking up her dress at her underwear and I’m humping and humping and humping and N is talking to me with her phone to her ear, saying it worked like a charm and he’s completely her’s, and I don’t understand but that doesn’t matter because I have N to make me better and think for me…
I just had a moment making my hand sticky thinking about a woman I worked with years ago and didn’t get on with.