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I’ve been a bad, bad girl.

For most of my life.  At least for the last 30 years.

There have been so many (so very many) tantalizing trysts in my past, that I find myself forgetting about some of them.  And then, all of the sudden, I am transported back to a different time and place.

Just like that.

During lunch today, I drove through downtown.  My city is rather small and the downtown area is less than impressive, although they do try to “revitalize” it about every ten years.  The sun was shining.  The air was crisp. it was a gorgeous fall day.  I breathed in the air and began to reminisce about some of the fun times I’d had downtown. Then my jaunt downtown turned into a trip down memory lane.

It was the summer of 1991.  I was working in a pharmacy while attending college.  I had more suitors than I could keep track of.  A few remnant boyfriends from high school.  A few older gents, some married, that I saw from time to time.  A handful of college guys that wanted more than a study date.  Life was good.  I could take my pick any day of the week. I was never without a date, if I wanted one.

And then there was Vernon.  Yes…his name was Vernon.  He sat next to me in my Microeconomics class.  He was attractive and smart…and a bit cocky.  He wore a tie to class each and every day…even in the hot Southern summer.  He dressed better than the professor.  He set his sights on me and was relentless in his pursuit.

I declined his offer to “study” together.  I declined his offer for coffee.  I declined his offer for lunch.  But he was not deterred.  He was a nice guy, and for me…that was the issue.  I didn’t want a “nice” guy.  I wanted the bad boy…or better yet, the bad man.  And Vernon wasn’t my type.  But finally, one day I decided to take him up on coffee.  I was shocked  because we really hit it off.  His anal-retentive ways blended well with my fly-by-the-seat of my g-string ways.  His uptight demeanor was a nice complement to my free-spirited attitude.

We went out on a few dates and he was the perfect gentleman.  (And always dressed like he was on his way to a corporate meeting)  Things progressed at a snail’s pace and I found myself becoming bored with him.  I had my “exit speech” planned and was about to let him down easy, when I saw a glimmer of hope.  He was driving and looked over at me with a devious smile.

“Let’s take a drive.” he said.  There was a confidence in his voice that was sexy.  He then pulled in behind a Sherwin Williams paint store.  He worked there.  We parked in a place that could not be seen from the road and he began kissing me.  His tie came off.  And then my shirt.  All of my clothes.  All of his clothes.  We fucked on the trunk of his car and he wasn’t that bad.  The guy had some chops.  I could tell I was more experienced than he, but I still had a good time.

We fucked often, usually in his car or on his car.  And then one evening, after dining downtown, we took a drive up a winding parking garage at the Bank of America building.  Although I enjoyed our time together, I was becoming bored with our typical routine.  He wanted us to stay in the car, since we were on top of the parking garage, in plain sight.  I decided to take control of the scenario and insisted we get out of the car.  We put a blanket down on the parking spot beside us.  I pulled his pants off and sucked him right there in the open.  I told him to lie down on the blanket.  I wanted to control him.  I felt the beast inside me clawing to come out.

Channeling my inner Domme, I mounted his cock and fucked him as if he were my sex slave.  I paid no mind to his needs. I rode him furiously.  Ramming my body with his body with each movement.  Harder and harder.  I was high on the adrenaline.  I was high on making him…the anal-retentive, uptight Vernon…my bitch.  I used him for my pleasure.  When I felt he was close to orgasm, I would stop.  I wasn’t finished with him and didn’t want him to cum until I was ready.  I honestly cannot even remember if he said anything, or protested when I made him wait.  But I didn’t care.  He was mine.  His cock was there for my pleasure.

My knees were getting sore, as the blanket had moved exposing my skin to the bare concrete.  I quickened my pace and we came together.  In the aftermath I noticed abrasions on both my knees from our intense session.  I didn’t care. The inner beast craved pleasure and nothing kept me from my goal.  Looking back, I was in a very dark place.  If ever I was a sadist, it was then.

We were quiet on the drive home.  The beast began to retreat and I morphed back into myself again.  We kissed goodnight.  After I got home, I took a shower and tended to my poor bruised knees.  I felt a sense of pride from my battle scars.  It represented a different version of me…one I’d yet to embrace.  I liked it.

The next day, Vernon wasn’t in class.  He never missed class.  NEVER.  I worried that something was wrong.  On a break between classes I used the phone in the library and called him.  There was no answer.  Later that day, I called his work and they told me he wasn’t there…he was in the hospital.  WHAT???  Had he been in a wreck on the way home?  What happened to Vernon?

His co-worker told me which hospital and I called his room.  Vernon answered.

“Hey.  What’s wrong?  Are you okay?” I asked.

“I’m okay.  Just had a tear from last night.”

I was puzzled.  A tear?  What could he have “torn”?  After all, I was the one with the bloody knees.

He whispered into the phone so the patient in the other bed couldn’t hear him, “You fucked me too hard last night.   You split me and I am in so much pain, I can’t pee.  They have me on pain medicine.  They are sending me home soon and said I will be okay in a couple of days.  But we can’t do that again”

I didn’t know what to say. I was shocked and embarrassed.  I apologized and then tried to relive the evening in my mind.  As I reviewed it, I remembered hearing him moan.  I remembered hearing him beg me to stop. I was so consumed with lust.  So consumed with my pleasure, that I didn’t care.

Our relationship fizzled immediately afterwards.  I think he was a bit “gun-shy” after that incident.  I felt terrible.  I would never want to put anyone in the hospital.  I resolved to never venture into “Domme-mode” ever again.  Then, a few weeks later…a fellow classmate and I were chatting, when she said, “He’s such an asshole.  Plays like he is all about business, like he’s a nice guy.  He is all about who he can screw.”

I was surprised that anyone would ever say anything like that about the super straight, squeaky clean Vernon, I knew.  She went on to say, “He pretends to be so nice, but treats women like shit. He begged me to go out with him and about 3 dates into it, he got forceful with me.  When I broke up with him, he talked about me terribly.  Such a jerk.”

And just like that…I no longer felt bad for injuring him.

In fact, I laughed out loud.  And today, as I drove past that parking garage, I laughed again.  Poor Vernon.

Wonder if he still wears a tie everyday?

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