Title; Tall Jane, Can a woman
rape a man?
7,100 words. M/F, M/F, NC
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
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
But it just wasn't happening; I became more
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
“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
“What’s with you Jane? What are you doing?” he
“You bastard!” I answered him, “Amanda told me what
“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.
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
“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
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
“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
“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
“How could you agree to go out with him, after he
raped you?” I demanded of
“Well, he didn't really rape me.
I only told him to stop once, and when he didn't things just kept
“Then why did you tell me he raped you?”
I asked her.
“I never said that.”
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
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
A couple of years later, I bumped into Jason’s
“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
“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
“No,” I told him.
“I’m going to Paris next week. Would you like to
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
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
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
His cock was lovely, straight and stiff in my mouth
and hands. But Terry wasn’t Jason; he was a pervert underneath that
“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
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
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
“No, I’m not ashamed. I just don’t feel like
“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
“Because I’m in a nasty mood.” I told him
truthfully, “My boyfriend pissed me off today. I want to take it out on
“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
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
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
“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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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 l/ittle 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