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Title; Tall Jane, Can a woman rape a man?

7,100 words. M/F, M/F, NC

Author; storyace

Synopsis; Jane is tall, strong, and frustrated. Sometimes, she uses her physical power to abuse men

Can a woman rape a man?

 

The answer is yes. 

 

I used to say “No”. 

 

No matter how hard a man might say no, if his cock is hard, then he is willing.  And if his cock isn't hard, it just won't work.

 

But I know now that this is not right.  I know that it was wrong to force myself on unwilling men.  I realized that what I was doing was assaulting them, using my greater strength and height to take out my frustrations on people who did not consent.

 

My aggressive behavior started when I was very young.

 

I've always been strong-willed, even as a little… well a tall little girl.  I was used to getting my way.  I was always big for my age, but I shot up in my adolescence to an extreme degree; when I turned 15 I was five foot ten.

 

This created some problems for me.

 

I was beautiful. I have black hair and blue eyes, my hips were as curvaceous as those of any girl in our town; but I couldn't get a date.  I was a head taller than any boy my age.  Half of them would have loved to fuck me, I'm sure; but none of them wanted to be seen with me in public.  It would just be too embarrassing.

 

Of course, there were always men asking me out, men who either didn't realize I was only 15, or didn't care [yuck].  But that wasn't what I wanted, I didn't want to play “adult”.  Not at first anyway.

 

I wanted to go out with boys my own age, like my girlfriends were doing.  I wanted to be taken to the school dance, I wanted to hang out at the lake with the other kids my age and have a boyfriend to show. Someone to go to the movies with and meet in the hallway at school, like the other girls.

 

But it just wasn't happening; I became more frustrated.

 

I was captain of the school basketball team, and we used to go all over the state for games.  Every now and then, I would meet a boy my height; but what was the use if they lived so far away?  And anyhow, I've always been very discriminating.  Just because someone was tall enough doesn't mean that I found them likable. I did have a date or two; but it didn't really do much for me.  The boys were good fun, but lousy lovers. Not that things went very far by the way.

 

I yearned for a regular boyfriend like other girls had, someone I could be with.

 

There was a boy, Willie.  I thought he was gorgeous, I had the hots for him no end, even though he was short [compared to me].  I did my best to get him to ask me out, and I guess everyone must have known that I liked him.  I even asked him out myself [which definitely was not done where I grew up], and I was heartbroken by his rejection.

 

He went out with one of my girlfriends.  She told me he forced himself on her.

 

Naturally, I was enraged; a boy should not force himself on a girl. 

 

I was big and strong, and I resolved to do something to even the score.

 

I wasn't thinking about raping him; that wasn't my idea of a good time.  I wanted a boyfriend, and I wanted sex; but in that order.  No, what I wanted was revenge; both for my friend and for myself.  He had forced himself on her, when I had been willing!  He had rejected me, and raped my girlfriend.

 

I waited for him in the woods just off the road where I knew he’d pass by on his way home from school.

 

“Hey, Willie!” I called out when I saw him walking by on the road, “Come have a look at this!” I pretended to be looking at something at my feet.

 

As he negotiated his way towards me, I stepped backwards, farther away from the road each time he took his eyes from me. In this way, I had him a good way into the woods by the time he got to me.

 

“What is it Jane?” he asked me.

 

I grabbed his wrist and twisted it up behind his back, turning him around. I was an athlete and I outweighed him; he was no match for me. Keeping him off balance, I drove him deeper into the woods.

 

“What’s with you Jane? What are you doing?” he squealed.

 

“You bastard!” I answered him, “Amanda told me what you did!”

 

“Shit, Jane! Don’t take it personally.”  He said. “It's not that I don't find you attractive it's just…”

 

In my anger, I was continuously pushing him backwards, and at this point he tripped over a root and fell on his back.  I sat down on him immediately, so he wouldn't be able to get up; I pinned his wrists down next to his head like I used to do to my brother when we were younger.

 

“You son of a bitch!”  I said, and spat in his face. “You raped my friend!”

 

He looked truly shocked; “It's not true, Jane!  I wouldn't do something like that!”

 

My breasts weren't as big as they would eventually become; but they were already substantial.  They were only inches from Willie's face, and despite the situation, this had an effect on both of us.  I didn't recognize the feeling at the time; I was too wound up. But I realized later what it was. 

 

Arousal, sexual excitement.  I could feel the lump of his swollen young cock at my groin through our clothes.

 

“Bullshit!”  I told him, still very much in anger. “Amanda said you wouldn't stop.  She didn't want you to, but you kept going.”

 

I couldn't help but be aware of my large breasts shaking in his face; of the slight adjustments I had to make at my pelvis, and how that caused our groins to stimulate each other.  That's when the thought occurred; I was going to do to him what he had done to Amanda.  I was going to screw him right here in the woods.

 

The idea thrilled me; it was nasty, dangerous, and aggressive. I was a lonely, horny, oversized girl.

 

I put my left hand under his neck, so I could grab his left hand while pinning his right under my left shoulder.  This freed my right hand to unbutton his trousers and get out his cock.

 

“Jane, what are you doing?  Stop it, cut it out!”

 

His prick was hard and hot in my hand.  It was the first time I’d ever held one, and it was surprisingly exciting; warm and full of sexual energy, pulsing and alive, sensitive and smooth.

 

My face was only inches from his, my breasts were hard against his chest.  I had him, he was mine.  I was going to use him and abuse him, and I felt right about it.  The only thing I couldn't figure out was how to get my own bluejeans off.  I unbuckled my belt and unzipped them, but it was a two-handed job to pull them down.  And I really needed to get them all the way off to have any hope of success.

 

“If you move, I'll kill you.”  I told him, standing up.  It's funny, the things we say when we're young.  But it worked, he didn't move for the few seconds it took me to take off my shoes, and pull off my trousers and underwear.  He just stared up at my jet black bush in wide-eyed shock from his position in the undergrowth.

 

I was amazed at how much I wanted it; I could feel the flood of juices, the pumping of my clitoris in anticipation; I wanted to sit with my bare snatch on that hot cock, rub it across myself, push it into myself, squeeze it and dominate it, as well as the boy it was attached to. I was through waiting, playing the passive role. Yes, I was the female, but I was also the physically superior one.

 

Willie started to get up, but he was too late; I pushed him back to the ground, straddling him once more with my now naked thighs.  His cock was half hard now, and I could feel it, smooth and warm against my sensitive parts.

 

“Stop it, Jane!”  Willy begged, “Let me go.  I won't tell anyone, just let me go.”

 

I pinned his wrists again, and slid my larger body over his smaller one.  I grabbed his hair, and took his lower lip between my teeth.  He tried to pull his head away, but I was too strong.  I laughed, and licked him from his throat to his eye.  His cock was hard again.  He wanted me, the little bastard wanted me.  His cock was hard.

 

“Stop Jane, stop.”  He kept saying, as I took his stiff penis in my hand, put it against myself, and slid myself down over it.

 

The feeling shocked me. I’d played with myself, even penetrated myself with a carrot. I hadn’t expected it to feel so completely different. Willy’s willy was real, it was a male organ, it had a boy attached to it. It was warm and alive, and it was inside my body.

 

“What are you doing, Jane?  Why are you doing this to me?”  Willy said feebly.

 

I didn’t answer him. A warm feeling flooded through my body as I started to rock back and forth against his manhood; this was how to do it, I was thinking.  Never mind all that waiting by the phone, praying for this boy or that to phone me.  Waiting for the date that no boy ever asked me on.  They didn't ask me out because I was bigger and stronger than they were; but all I had to do was choose which one I wanted, throw him to the ground, and get what I needed.  Or what I thought I needed at that moment.

 

I held myself tightly against him, my hands behind his head as I slid my body forwards and backwards, reveling in the sensation of his dick entering my body again and again, allowing my clit to impact deliciously against Willie's hard cock, staring into his disbelieving eyes as I came.

 

It wasn’t the first time for me, but it was the first time with a kid anywhere near my own age.  It felt good to come, and I wanted more; I carried on, even as Willy continued to complain.

 

But he came before I did; that unfamiliar feeling, that hot rush of being injected with a man's seed.  The horrible but wonderful feeling of male slime.

 

I felt suddenly humiliated.  It may sound odd, but that's how I felt.  I had set out to humiliate Willy, and even when I decided to screw him I meant it to be humiliating to him; and in fact it was.  But I had humiliated myself at least as much.

 

I stood, dressed only in my T-shirt, the air suddenly cold against my naked legs and crotch.  Willie only had to button up his trousers, and he left in a hurry as I was still getting my underwear back on, wondering what to do about his slime as it started to dribble out.  He didn't say a word, and we managed to avoid each other's eyes.

 

He took Amanda out the next weekend; she became his girlfriend.

 

“How could you agree to go out with him, after he raped you?”  I demanded of my friend.

 

“Well, he didn't really rape me.  I only told him to stop once, and when he didn't things just kept going.”

 

“Then why did you tell me he raped you?”  I asked her.

 

“I never said that.”  She claimed.

 

Human memory is a frail thing, and I honestly don't know who said what when.  I told the story as I remember it.  I'm pretty sure she’d used the “R” word.

 

The rest of my high school experience was fairly miserable.  I had lots of girlfriends, and people thought I was lesbian.  I wasn't, it was just that no boys asked me out.  Except Willy, after he split up with Amanda, but I was no longer interested in him.

 

I started having affairs with older men, and I guess I was enjoying myself. But obviously I had to be very secretive about it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A couple of months later, I moved in with a [let’s say] mature man, Jason, for a summer. It was nice, but only lasted a few months.

 

A couple of years later, I bumped into Jason’s boss.

 

“Jane! Good to see you. How are you? Still enjoy a good game, or are you married by now?”

 

He might have meant game of basketball, or he might have meant something else. I was bored and lonely; I was happy to meet someone I knew from a more exciting time.

 

I smiled at him; “I still enjoy a good game.” I told him.

 

“I’m just going out for lunch; would you like to come with me?” he asked.

 

“I’d love to.” I told him; it had been a while since I’d been into the kind of restaurant these wealthy men frequented.

 

Terry looked into my eyes for an extra moment. I couldn’t believe the only date I’d managed to get in two years was with a senior citizen.

 

Terry was older than Jason, and much richer. He was a fit man with a slightly frantic demeanor and thin silver hair. He was slightly shorter than I was.

The wealth attracted me, like a flame attracts a moth; I knew it wasn’t what I needed, but it was what I desired.

 

As we ordered, flirted, and ate, I found myself thinking of making love with him; it didn’t seem an unpleasant prospect. I tried to imagine him without his wealth, testing myself; would he still be in a position to seduce me? Perhaps.

 

Smoothly, I slipped back into the persona I’d used with Jason, which was how Terry knew me. Therefore, instead of 17, I had to be 20.

 

It was glorious to be there, in a restaurant where a meal cost about half of what my mother paid as rent in a month. To have champagne and fine food served from silver by respectful waiters. It made me feel wonderful, important.

 

“Have you ever been to Europe, Jane?” my host asked me.

 

“No,” I told him.

 

“I’m going to Paris next week. Would you like to come along?”

 

It was an audacious proposal; we had only had lunch, and he was suggesting we spend a week together in Europe.

 

“I don’t have a passport.” I said.

 

“Well, get one.” He answered with a smile.

 

I told my mother some lies and she didn’t ask too many questions. Like everyone else, she thought of me as an adult; she was only as tall as my nose, after all.

 

Terry picked me up with a taxi on his way to the airport; I sat in the back with him, feeling a little nervous.

 

We hadn’t seen each other since the restaurant, we’d arranged everything over the phone. I was heading off into the unknown with a man I barely knew, but I knew I would have knowledge of soon.

 

He put his arm around my shoulders and smiled; “Nervous?” he asked, his dark eyes shining brightly.

 

“Yes.” I admitted.

 

“This is going to be a great week.” He told me, and kissed me lightly on my mouth. I hoped he was right.

 

A room in a first class hotel in Paris; a bottle of champagne. A rich old man and a beautiful young girl, here to compromise herself.

Under the relaxing influence of the mild alcohol, it was easier for me to allow him to take his reward.

 

The truth was, it was my reward too. I wanted him; despite his age, or perhaps even because of it, he fascinated me. He was attractive, suave, and yes, sexy.

 

Gently and slowly, he undressed me. He stroked and caressed me, massaged and kissed me. He took off his own clothes after a while, and his cock was erect. I reached out and took it in my hands; my older lover shivered as I stroked it. He brought it to my mouth.

 

Jason had taught me to pleasure a man that way; to lick and suck, always changing the rhythm and tension. To stroke the balls and the ass of my lover as I moved my mouth around over his potency.

 

His cock was lovely, straight and stiff in my mouth and hands. But Terry wasn’t Jason; he was a pervert underneath that charming smile.

 

“Get undressed.” He told me.

 

I obeyed him willingly, enjoying my passive role, surrendering to his will.

 

“You’re so beautiful.” He said softly, looking into my eyes and lifting my big breasts in his hands. It felt good to have a man’s hands on me again, to feel his desire and heat.

 

He spread a large towel out on the bed.

 

“Lie down on there.” He said.

 

He took a bottle of baby oil out and dribbled some on my chest, and then began to massage my tits with a soft touch.

 

I looked into his eyes, enjoying his attention, fondling his stiff penis with happy anticipation.

 

My breasts were huge; men couldn’t keep their eyes off of them, I even caught a lot of women stealing a glance. To me, they were just appendages, but I was also always aware of the allure they inspired in men, and the jealousy they inspired in women.

 

So I relaxed and let him enjoy himself, and found I liked the sensation too. 

 

Then he got up onto the bed, straddling me, his ass over my belly and his cock between my oiled breasts. Holding them, squeezing them together, he slid his organ between them, pushing the oily tip against my lips at the end of each stroke.

 

I found it fun; the oil didn’t have much taste or smell. He was old and funny, with his kinky desire. It was sexy to be there with him, in that hotel room far from home, and to succumb to him.

 

Then his dick began to quiver, and he came half on my face and half in my mouth.

 

I looked up at him, upset and distressed at what he’d done. He looked down at me with a happy smile, as if this was normal for him to ejaculate over someone’s face.

 

“Excellent, Jane, that was just lovely.” He said, getting off of me. “Come into the bathroom so I can clean that off.”

 

I felt a bit horrible as I got up; sticky semen all over my face and in my mouth, and slimy oil all over my belly and breasts. It wasn’t quite what I’d had in mind.

 

“Here, lie down in the bathtub.” He said, running the water through the shower head as he directed the flow into the sink as it warmed up.

 

“Close your eyes, stay still now.” He told me.

 

When I felt the warm stream hit my chest, I had no idea what it was. He peed over my neck and then my face before I realized what was happening. I opened my eyes as he directed it against my [thankfully] closed mouth.

 

His expression was diabolical; triumph. He’d humiliated me utterly.

 

He stepped away from me, depleted. “I have a meeting in a half an hour.” He said, as if urinating over women was completely normal for him.

 

“I’ll be back around five, and we can go for dinner.” He said.

 

Stunned, and utterly disgusted, I lay in the tub as he left.

 

Other than his perverted desire to pee on my all the time, Terry was a perfect gentleman. He held doors and chairs for me, he bought me small expensive things, diamonds and pearls.

 

I surrendered to it, to him. To his suave manners and money. To the lavish lifestyle he offered me.

 

I let him take his pleasure, but inside myself a fire was raging, a fire of conflict. I was letting him dominate and humiliate me; I found I liked it, it made me feel oddly content.

 

But at the same time I hated it, and hated myself for allowing him to use me that way.  I needed a release for my building aggression.

 

 

He was in Paris for business, and aside from letting him relive himself on me and looking pretty as he talked business over dinner, I didn’t have much to do.

 

The following day again he had no time for me. He insisted on a blowjob in the morning, and I performed it willingly. But after he came in my mouth, he just gave me some money and sent me shopping.

 

I was aggravated and frustrated; I felt marginalized and unappreciated. At around 1:00, I dropped my shopping bags in the hotel room, and walked down to the bar.

 

There were a few men there, drinking. I wasn’t sure what I was even doing there. One of the men caught my eye and smiled. I walked up to his table and brazenly sat down. With a thrill, I realized that I’d have never dared do something like this at home.

 

The man was thin and English. He was slightly balding; he wasn’t as old, but he was less handsome than Terry. My chest stood between us, challenging him to try.

 

“Would you like a drink?” he asked.

 

“Wine. Red.” I said.

 

I just stared at him, wondering what I was exactly doing; why was I taking it out on him?

 

Because I could.

 

Because I had more power than him; I was taller and stronger, I was young and beautiful. He should be ready to give anything should I be willing to let him touch me. I was a privilege just to look at. My eyes burned into the poor fellow, taunting him.

 

“I say; are you… on the game?” he asked.

 

Game? It took me a moment to realize what he meant. When I did, I broke out laughing.

 

“No. not that game.” I told him. It almost spoiled the whole thing, laughing like that.

 

It did make me think though; was I? Not with him, but with Terry. Wasn’t I trading sexual favors for financial ones, even if it wasn’t cash?

 

The barkeeper brought our drinks.

 

“Oh. Well, terribly sorry; I’m just not used to being flattered by a such an outstanding young lady.”

 

He had the kind of clipped British accent that a man should have who sat in a bar like this one.

 

“My name’s Henry.” He said. “And you are?”

 

“I don’t want to tell you.” I said.

 

“Really? Why not? You’re not ashamed of your own name, are you?”

 

The interesting thing to me about this was that I didn’t care about this person at all. I didn’t care what he would think of me; he was a victim to me, prey. I was going to abuse him, in fact I already was. I was using the power of my physical attractiveness to unbalance him.

 

“No, I’m not ashamed. I just don’t feel like telling you.”

 

“But why not?”

 

“Do you have a room here?” I asked him.

 

“Yes, I do.” He said, looking at me sharply, trying to measure me; I was half his age. Could I really be hitting on him, or was this some kind of scam or joke?

 

“Why do you ask?”

 

“Why do you think?”

 

My even stare would have left him in little doubt. He fidgeted nervously; I was excited by that. He didn’t think I would really fuck him, he didn’t think something like that could happen to him. But he couldn’t resist the possibility.

 

“You would like to come upstairs with me?” he asked, as if only barely able to breathe the words.

 

I leaned forward, causing my large breasts to stretch my dress open a little. “I want to be nasty to you.” I told him.

 

He was perspiring slightly. “Why?” he asked.

 

I leaned back again, pulling away from him a little.

 

“Because I’m in a nasty mood.” I told him truthfully, “My boyfriend pissed me off today. I want to take it out on someone.”

 

“I see. What did you have in mind?”

 

I didn’t have an answer to that; my mind was too unclear for me to know what was in it, exactly. But with the benefit of hindsight, I know now.

 

“Take me to your room, and I’ll show you.” I challenged him.

 

Even as I said it, I wondered what the hell I was doing. I wasn’t thinking of really having some kind of sex with him, not consciously. I just wanted to hurt him, to tease him with the possibilities, I thought. I wanted to cause some pain to avenge some of the pain that had been done to me by those men who didn’t appreciate me, all those boys who never asked me out, my older lovers who treated me like the oversized school girl I really was.

 

“All right.” He said, throwing the ball back at me.

 

I couldn’t back down; that would have been the time to retreat, but I was too turned on by my own aggressiveness. I stood up when he did; if he had been a tall man, perhaps the strange mode I was in would have normalized. But I was wearing 3 inch heels, and was standing at 6 feet 3 inches. He was as tall as my chin.

 

My athletic shoulders were slightly wider than his, my strength and youth gave me a feeling of tremendous power over this man. A power that was working on me like an aphrodisiac. I felt a flush in my cheeks and a heat between my legs that I recognized from those years ago, when I’d overpowered that boy in the woods near my home.

 

Every muscle in my body tingled with the thought of slamming the Englishman against a wall, slapping his face blue, twisting his arm up behind his back, and pulling on his weedy dick. I felt heat in my vagina and my mouth watered slightly as I considered the possibilities.

 

His eyes looked up at me, fear, hope, and doubt written in them. I grinned at him involuntarily. His eyes shifted down for a moment, unable to resist the primal male impulse; my nipples were stiff with my own primal desires, and I suddenly realized he could see them pushing through my tight clothing. He was mine; caught, captured, trapped. What man could resist the bait that I was?

 

In the elevator, I grabbed him by the ear, and twisted his head to one side.

 

“Ow! Say, what are you doing?”

 

“I’m Nasty!” I hissed, and kissed him.

 

He was off balance, literally and figuratively, as I wanted him to be. I put my other hand on the small of his back, and pulled him against myself, as a feeling of incredible delicious energy flooded me. It was a rush, an endorphin fix. His head was sticking up between my tits as I shoved my tongue in and out of his mouth like a penis should do with my hungry groin. I clamped his thighs between my knees as the elevator reached his floor.

 

I felt his ass as he fumbled with his room key, the way no man would dare to fondle me [with good reason]. As soon as we were inside, alone, I felt the last of my inhibitions slide away. No one could help him now; he was completely in my power, in every way. I could hit him, fuck him, squeeze the very life from him, and no one would get in my way.

 

Grabbing his wrist, I turned him, then I pulled, throwing him stumbling across his hotel room. He fell over a stool, and landed sprawling on his back.

 

I laughed at him, reveling in the exhilaration of dominance.

 

“Take off your trousers.” I told him.

 

He stared up at me goggle eyed.

 

“Off off off!” I said, prodding him with the toe of my shoe for emphasis.

 

Without getting up from the floor, he obeyed me. The thrill was greater than anything I’d ever known; this “man”, wealthy and upper class, twice my age, was doing my bidding. I knew then that I was going all the way with him; I didn’t give a toss about “loyalty” to Terry. He had done nothing to deserve loyalty anyway.

 

The one thing I didn’t expect of Henry was a big cock; but he had a beauty. That thin shouldered, thin haired little English geek had a thick, long, stiff dick! I had never been with a guy who’d had half that much meat before. He looked up at me triumphantly; he knew it was something special. He had been looking forward to this moment.

 

We stared at each other silently as he laid on the carpet and teased his big cock, and I pulled my panties down and hitched my skirt up. I stepped over him, so he was looking straight up into my black curly bush. I pointed at his face and crocked my finger, beckoning his face upwards.

 

He needs a shave, I thought, as his cheeks fitted themselves between my thighs. I had to bend my knees a little so his tongue could get in.

 

It was wonderful; like an itch that I’d been unable to reach, his licking relieved my tension. It cooled me and soothed me, and I clamped his head with my thighs and both hands. His hands grabbed my ass, kneading and stroking my seat as his tongue did its thing.

 

It was good, but a bit too nice. I wasn’t here for nice.

 

After a minute or two, I shoved him back down; he laid on his back compliantly, willing to play his part in my game. Knowing that it was me calling the shots here.

 

Still standing over him, I pulled my dress off over my head, revealing my smooth, pale young skin, my flat stomach and narrow hips.

 

I stared down at him through the valley of my breasts as I reached back and released the hook of my bra.

 

Big cock? Well, he wasn’t the only one with a greatness in their anatomy.

 

My breasts are my pride and my curse; they draw the attention of everyone [male and female], whether I want that attention or not. They’re part [with my height] of my freakish physique, that characteristic of me that can never be ignored, that dominate my life.

 

In my teenaged years, they stood proudly in front of my body, even when unsupported. They were magnificent, in short. I had to carry those damn things around all day, they were like anchors when I played basketball, they made it impossible to sleep on my front. This was the moment of them; the time to use them for the only thing they were good at. Driving men mad.

 

I sat on him, trapping his hot log between my hairy crotch and his belly, as I draped my huge firm mammaries over his face. He groaned and put his hands against them, pushing them against his cheeks.

 

Did you know that big breasts like mine don’t even produce more milk than ordinary ones? Not mother’s milk, I mean. Father’s milk; that could be.

 

I needed that big cock, it was time to try it. I lifted my hips, and reached back, grabbing it. It was hard and alive in my hand, it wanted my big young body, it hungered for me as much as I hungered for it.

 

It felt so good to stretch myself over it, it felt like what I had wanted for so long. So long, long a cock I’d wanted; so thick and hard and yet compliant a cock to ride, as I shook my shoulders from side to side, beating the little man who carried it with my otherwise useless breasts as it slid deeper, until it was all mine, held within my deprived body, clamped by my nasty fertile desire.

 

I rode the thing, sliding my body back and forth, lifting myself up and down, feeling it inside me, so alive and dangerous, like a bomb that we both knew would explode at some point, hopefully later rather than sooner.

 

The orgasm felt good, so incredibly good as it approached; I welcomed it, lost myself in its beauty as it overcame me. I crushed my little lover’s head between my strong hands, smothering him between my breasts until I was through.

 

I let him lick and suck my nipples as I humped him, wanting that wonderful feeling back again. And as it came to me the second time, I felt the small man’s big dick tick; I felt the hot rush of his seed against my insides, shooting a hot rush deep inside where no one had reached before.

 

Terry didn’t wake up when I got back to our room. He slept through my shower, while I tried to wash the gummy reality of my decadence from my body.

 

I came to like Terry.  He was very generous, and I enjoyed the places he took me and the things he bought for me.  Although he was married, I agreed to become his mistress.  It seemed reasonable; it wasn't like I had much chance for romance [based on my experience at that time].  And I was only 18, so I had plenty of time to waste. I could find romance later.

 

Terry enjoyed traveling with me, he liked the attention I attracted.  He liked me to wear high heels, making me enormously tall, towering over everyone we met.  Then he would ask me to do little things for him when other people were around, pour the wine or bring him a newspaper.  Making it clear that this huge gorgeous woman 40 years younger than he would do his bidding.  It gave him prestige and power, and I enjoyed the game. Somehow I even liked the way he humiliated me, in public and private. As if I secretly deserved it, an atonement for the way I treated other men.

 

In bed, he rarely pleased me.  It wasn't his age, or his stature. He was just a pervert, and it happened that his kink really didn’t do anything for me. All he ever wanted was a tit fuck, a blow job, and then to pee on me when he was done. Yet some part of me liked it, or I wouldn’t have stayed; even being urinated on had an odd appeal.  

 

But sometimes, he was wonderful; he’d make love to me tenderly, passionately, and skillfully. Then I’d be in love with him again for a while.

 

I didn't want to leave him.  He treated me well, he bought me a car and countless gifts, he was paying for my apartment and my schooling.

 

And so I became more and more frustrated; even as I allowed Terry to be the dominant male, I became more and more aggressive towards other people when he wasn’t around.  Finally, I went back to taking out my aggressions by sexually assaulting strangers.

 

It was like a Jekyll and Hyde thing, demure and passive on the surface, yet violently aggressive somewhere deep within. I was just as perverted as Terry.

 

I saw a man in the street I thought was cute, and followed him home. It was exciting to stalk him, like a huntress. As he got to his front door, I grabbed his wrist; he was about 3 inches shorter than me, and looked up in total surprise.

 

He had the sweetest face, and dreamy eyes. Standing in front of him, I twisted his wrist up behind his back, and grabbed him by the hair, pulling his head back.

His panic was exhilarating; I pulled him against myself.  On the surface, I was confident and aggressive.  But within me I was completely afraid.  It felt good, it somehow soothed me to see he was more frightened and I was.

 

“I’m Jane.” I told him, “And I think you’re cute. Is there anyone else home?”

 

He was too shocked to even answer; I dragged him into the apartment he’d just opened, and threw him at a couch.

 

“Get your clothes off.” I told him while I stripped. “I want you.”

 

It was the rawest, most primal sex I’d ever had; my victim didn’t move, he just sat and stared at me. I pulled his clothes off of him, and his dick was soft.

 

I straddled him, lying down against him and kissing him, holding his head by the hair. He didn’t resist; but he didn’t do much to participate, either. He got hard. I guess anyone would have. I fitted it in me, and rode him until I came. It felt good, and I wanted more. I held his shoulders down against the cushions and stared at him as I continued.

 

He just stared up at me silently, his big sorry eyes those of a perfect victim.  His pathetic attitude made me even more angry, more horny, and more resolute to keep going.

 

His dick was good inside; until he came. Then it was as though he had beaten me at my own game somehow. I was supposed to be the aggressor, but he’d fired his weapon, filling me with his dirty ammunition.

 

I straddled his face; “Lick it out. You put it in, now you lick it back out.” I told him angrily.

 

He looked up at me wide eyed, but said nothing as I ground my sex against his mouth. I felt his tongue against me.

 

He held onto my thighs and licked me, shoving his tongue as deep as he could. My silent nameless lover cleaned me out and made me come again, more because of the wonderful humiliation I was subjecting him to than the actual feeling of his mouth on me.  He was eating his own come.

 

I dressed and left, suddenly feeling really frightened at my own behavior. He never said a word through the entire episode, and it couldn’t have taken more than 15 minutes end to end.

 

 

Things were better when I went to college. As well as playing college basketball, I joined the wrestling team.  This wasn't like that crap you see on TV, we did real competition wrestling.  I learned how to catch and hold someone so they were completely helpless; I enjoyed the competition, but I enjoyed what I could do with my skills out of the ring even more.

The boys had grown up by then, and there were plenty of tall and handsome ones that weren’t out of my age group. 

I flirted hopefully, but somehow nothing seemed to click.  In any case, I was still Terry's mistress; he had rights to me at night and on weekends.  That made dating difficult if not impossible.

 

My psychiatrist says I was looking for trouble, “crying out for help” as he put it.  After all, how many black haired blue-eyed six-foot 3 inch women are there in a town?  I had to know that I couldn't keep getting away with it.

 

I got into a little date rape habit.

 

I’d choose someone good looking but not too heavily built, and boldly ask him to dinner, standing a little too close, looking down at him. I’d wear high heeled boots, making me about six foot six.

 

I’d keep my date off balance, leering at him and making little remarks; pinch his bottom and tell him I thought he was cute, or would be when he grew up.

 

I’d get him alone, either at my place or his, and then I’d go for it, pulling off his clothes and feeling him up. I’d fondle him and tell him he had a cute little cock [ok, I do remember there was one guy I couldn’t call little in that regard]. I’d make him lick me out, holding his head in there firmly while telling him just what to do; then I’d screw him. Usually they were so intimidated, they didn’t come too soon. I rarely wanted to see a guy again after one of those sessions, especially if he wanted another one; who could respect a guy who liked something like that?

 

I started packing some rope and a pair of handcuffs in my purse.  Dominant and slightly aggressive sex was no longer enough.

 

I tied men up and gagged them.  They weren't always willing, and that made it much more interesting.  They never screamed as I grappled with them; I find that curious. I guess they were just too shocked and surprised to figure out what was happening until it was too late.

 

It was easy physically; I was stronger than I looked, and with my wrestling background, I knew how to subjugate a person. And of course I simply chose men who weren’t too strong for me.

 

 Soon I had them stripped and strapped to their own bed, helpless.

 

It was an evil thrill, the thrill of total power.

 

I didn't hurt them much; I didn't want to damage anyone.  But I'd slap them around a little, pinch them and bite them, and screw them.  I liked to cause pain, squeezing their balls in my fist as I fucked them, punching them in the solar plexus when they were unaware, pulling their hair or twisting their ears.

 

I don't think most of my lovers of that period could even figure out if they had fun or not; I wasn't even sure if I did.  I always enjoyed doing it while I did it, but after I’d have an orgasm or two, I'd feel disgusted with myself, and even more disgusted with whatever hapless male I had abused. 

 

If they came, I always made them suck me out.  Nearly all of them hated that, but their whining and begging merely drove me on.  I'd put my greasy vagina against their mouth, and then pinch their nose if they didn't do what I told them.

 

It took a visit from the police to scare me into seeing a psychiatrist. Therapy has helped me a lot, and I’ve gotten over the need to be so aggressive.

And when I am, I’m much more careful

 

I’m married now, to a wonderful man who loves me much more than I deserve.

 

I want to be faithful to him, but how can I be? I have needs. Dark needs that can’t be satisfied by a good man.

Ace 2001  / 2011 [this story was in limbo for a while]

http://www.asstr.org/~aceinthe_hole/She_wanted_a_baby.htm ].

 
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