It wasn’t working.
The walk home from campus after class, in the dark, hadn’t been as easy as the morning walk there. The rain had stopped, and the clouds had cleared just enough to let through a little moonlight, but the darkness of the forest at night was impenetrable. The road that took me home was narrow and quiet. I’d kept waiting for a car to go past, hoping for the comforting glow of headlights.
None came.
I’d walked alone, telling myself to remain calm despite the growing sensation of eyes watching the back of my head and the occasional snap of a twig from within the trees. I wasn’t one to scare easily, but when the darkness was that deep it was difficult not to feel uneasy.
But by the time I got home, shed my clothes, and climbed into the hot shower, my thoughts had already turned back to Leon. That cocky, perverted asshole.
I’d wanted to slap him for daring to say that shit to me. Then he’d had to go and put those thoughts in my head of getting on my knees for him. Ugh, what an absolute dick. It made me so mad.
And it turned me on.
I squeezed my eyes shut tight, but the darkness of my own mind was not a safe place from these thoughts. Leon was exactly my type, at least from the shallow first-impression side of things. Sarcastic, quick to bite back, with a sardonic smile that made my stomach quiver. I felt like I was in high school again, fawning over some unattainable rock star. I’d glimpsed the colorful lines of tattoos beneath his shirt collar, and he had multiple piercings in the cartilage of his ears and stretched lobes. He gave off a rebellious vibe, maybe even a little artistic.
I sighed, and mentally scolded myself for romanticizing the douchebag’s looks. He was absurdly attractive, so what?
If you’ve never been fucked bent over a pulpit with one man in your ass and another in your mouth…
I took a slow breath. I shouldn’t have been thinking about him that way, not when I had to see him every day on campus, not when I’d promised myself that I was going to stay away from jumping into bed with assholes after what happened with Rachel.
But it was just a fantasy, and that cold, creepy walk home had me needing a little comfort.
I could imagine his hand stroking up my back, fingers tracing along my spine to the base of my neck and gripping me there. Gripping me like a little doll to be used and maneuvered. Doll. He’d seemed to like calling me that.
I swallowed hard, my mouth dry. I couldn’t deny that my desires ran on the dark and kinky side.
I sighed, a little whimper coming out with it as I wrapped my hands around my body and my fingers stroked over my hips. In the darkness behind my closed eyes, it was his fingers tracing over me.
Something about him wasn’t safe; I couldn’t put my finger on it, but he set off alarm bells in my brain that told me to run. A rabbit knew instinctively to flee from a wolf. So why, instead of fleeing, was I fantasizing about being caught?
I caressed my fingers down, moving slowly and softly around my navel before I stroked over my abdomen and between my legs. The hot water and my gentle touches sent a shiver up my back, and my arousal swelled. My inner thighs were sensitive, even to my own hands. I leaned against the shower wall, the steam rising around me, and my finger slipped between my labia to stroke over my clit.
My breath caught in my throat. I stroked myself again, merciless to the shuddering it produced in my legs. I’d been rude to him, I knew I had. He easily could have responded to that rudeness by putting me in my place.
I let the fantasy spiral as my fingers continued to play between my legs and my other hand caressed over my throat. I imagined Leon gripping me there, just tight enough to stifle my air, holding me still and helpless as he scolded me.
I used to feel so guilty for fantasizing about being taken advantage of, as if that horrifying reality was something I would ever actually want outside the safety of my mind or a consensual role play. But I’d panic-read enough about the psychology of it that it no longer made me feel like a perverted hypocrite. There was something thrilling and cathartic in imagining being helpless. Helpless but pleasured. Helpless but desired.
It wasn’t just in horror films and haunted places that I indulged my love for dark things. My fantasies, the ones that made my breath hitch and my heart beat faster, were inky black as well.
“Did you really think I’d let you get away with speaking to me that way?” I imagined his eyes burning into me: bright and vicious, eager once he had me in his hands. “You should have tried to be a little more respectful.”
My knees weakened as my fingers massaged roughly over my clit, my dripping arousal making me slick. I imagined Leon standing over me, I imagined him laughing at my half-hearted struggles as he pinned me down, and yanked my pants down to my ankles.