Sex

Sex Diaries: How I Became The Man-Eating Vixen I’ve Always Wanted To Be

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Editor’s note: Virginia Plain is the pseudonym of a twenty-something woman living in New York who just ended a four year relationship. Read her previous posts here, and check back next week for more.

Once upon a time I was young, horny girl in high school who had never kissed a boy much less had sex but had somehow developed a keen interest in erotica. Like good Anaïs Nin, Marquis de Sade and The Story of O erotica. The Story of O in particular has been a favorite book of mine for years and even though I loved it (you think Fifty Shades of Grey is good? Read this) I had never thought that role play, BDSM, etc was something I could do. Until now.

I’ll spare you the details of how I actually met this guy, we’ll call him Wicked Hipster, because to be honest it’s kind of boring. We were out, it was late, he was staying at a posh hotel I’d been dying to see and I thought, sure, it’s Saturday, I’ll come over. Now, I was on my period at the time and while I’ve never had a problem with period sex, I’ve also never tried to hook up with a new guy while the Crimson Tide was in town. I was a little worried about what he would expect, but after my dreamy cuddle-love-fest with Crazy Jacket I decided to risk it. You can’t always tell with guys.

When we got up to his barren but expertly decorated drab grey room, we immediately started making out. Rolling around on the immaculately made bed, I could feel his hands creeping around the hem of my much abridged polka dot dress. And I started to laugh. Uncontrollably. He politely ignored me for a few minutes before finally saying,

“You know what? I can’t take the laughing. I think I’m just gonna go to sleep.”

Oh, damn. Why was it so hard to just tell this guy I was on my period? After putting my discarded boots back on, I leaned over and kissed him. It should have been a goodbye kiss, but somehow it wasn’t. This guy was a great kisser, and sucker that I am for making out, I thought I could milk the situation for at least a few more minutes. I climbed on top of him and pinned him down. Maybe a little harder than I meant to.

A few minutes later, he was on top of me, at turns pinning me to the bed and at turns pulling my hair. It was awesome. I felt weirdly helpless and at the same time powerful, like some vicious caged animal. I reared up to bite his chest. And then the dirty talk started.

Let’s press pause for a moment. Can we all agree that dirty talk is inherently pretty stupid? It just never seemed like any kind of turn on, if anything it seemed annoying. I’d learned from Rock God that I could do it pretty well in text form, and now I had the opportunity to act it out. Wicked Hipster snarled in my ear how I liked it rough, etc it was pretty banal. I breathily moaned “yes” here and there to keep pace but he wasn’t really giving me anything to work with. Until he went on a tangent about how I was such a bad little girl to which I smartly (?) responded,

“Yes, I need to be punished.”

As soon as the words left my mouth, he flipped me on my stomach pulled up my dress and started spanking me. Hard. At first I was a little shocked and put off. The last time I had been really spanked was eons ago and had something to do with me stealing one of my sister’s Barbies and lying about it. As the ass pummeling continued though, I started to really enjoy it, the hot sting followed by the cool air — it was too good.

Suddenly it stopped. A little disoriented, I managed to get up on my hands and knees but before I could lift my head to see where Wicked Hipster had gone to, I noticed a nice hard dick shooting through my wall of tangled hair. Well, hello there.

To be honest, I really enjoy blow jobs. Like a lot. I have since high school, and I was excited to finally have an opportunity to suck a cock that (hopefully!) wouldn’t go soft. It was heaven; my creativity or talent hadn’t faded at all and I sucked Wicked Hipster’s cock for all it was worth. He came hard. I swallowed it right up. After, he sheepishly offered me a towel, but I turned him down saying,

“I don’t need it. I never miss a drop.”

Then something funny happened. Gone was the powerful, domineering man of just a few minutes earlier and in his place was a sweet, nice dude who seemed a bit in shock.

“I’m usually such a square with sex, I don’t know how that just happened. You’re a total lioness. Have you always been like this?”

I told him no, but in my heart I knew I had. As I walked home at four o’clock in the morning I felt drunk with power and lust. Why had I not always been doing this? I was so naturally good at it, why had I wanted to lock myself in one particularly unhealthy relationship after another?

As I admired my scars and bruises in the mirror when I got home, I realized there wasn’t really any point dwelling on the past. Whatever I had been, I no longer was. Something changed that night. I became the man-eating vixen I had always secretly wanted to be.

Here comes trouble.

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