*This happened a couple of years ago, when I was living in the capitol of my country, studying literature at the university. English is not my first language, apologises for language mistakes. Splitting this up because it turned out longer than expected, next part coming soon. There’s another story on my profile if you’d like more, how shall we say, direct action.*
Eloise was stunning, first of all. We met at University, where she studied art history and joined the Friday Bar Committee I was on.
She was half French, something that carried over into her look, her curved eyebrows, dark eyes and high cheekbones. She had her dark hair cut in a bob and wore white shirts and black skirts, that showed off her lithe figure and small breasts and, if you’ll allow me this indulgence, tight little ass.
She looked like an actress out of an early sixties La Nouvelle Vague-film, carrying a slight pout or a catty smile, like she didn’t approve of anything or anyone.
She was also a pain in the ass. We clashed on all sorts of things, from the brands of beer we should carry to politics, to her tendency to arrive late at meetings. She’d challenge me specifically, for some reason
I tried to be civil, but it was clear to everyone, and especially both of us, that we held no great love for one another. She detested my guts.
When we manned the Friday bar, it would close at 12 and the members of the committee (who sold the beers and cleaned up) usually stayed late to drink the leftover alcohol, play entirely too loud pop music and have a private party of our own.
I’d been drinking a lot and laughing more with my friends, and we’d spent a lot of time outside smoking and discussing, and Eloise didn’t usually hang too much with my friends, so I hadn’t been in her company for most of the evening, but when I came back in to mix myself a drink, she’d hang by the bar, looking contemplative and (as she tended to) slightly contemptuous.
“Mix you a drink?” I said, as it seemed the polite thing to do. She shot me a look, almost as to weigh me, and for a moment I was sure she’d find some reason to take up one of our old fights. But then:
“Sure,” she said after a short time, “Cuba libre please.”
I don’t know why entirely, maybe it was the hot summer evening and the alcohol, or maybe we were both tired of clashing, but our conversation turned out pleasantly. We discussed art and literature, somehow dodging the issues we’d fight over earlier.
Some of my friends came over for drinks, our conversation broadened to everyone around the bar, and as these things sometime go, it turned to sex. Different people were having different conversations at the same time, but for some reason my attention was turned to Eloise.
“I like to be put into my place,” she said to a friend of hers. “And no one I’ve met here has been able to do that.”
This turned me on in a strange competitive way, channeling my irritation into a lustful need to give her what she craved but also what I thought she deserved.
When her friend’s attention turned away and I mixed her another drink I looked straight into her dark eyes as I handed it to her and I took my chance.
“I could put you into your place,” I said and her eyes widened in surprise.
“Oh? And how would you do that?” she said looking like a cat, ready to claw.
“By licking your pussy ‘till your back archs and twists, and making you cum so hard you can’t talk and then fucking you before you have a chance to get the use of your words back,” I said, which was corny, but can work in the right circumstances and if said with the right amount of conviction.
A shock and something I can only interpret as lustful surprise flashed through her eyes, she breathed deeply, but then she laughed it off, not quite as convincingly as she might have wanted to, and the talk broadened again as other people came to the bar. She delved into conversation with other people.
I was fine by this, when you come onto people you should be ready to accept a lack of interest in a heartbeat, and I had come on very strongly, so I turned my attention to the music and one of my friend’s newfound interest in Norwegian neo-disco or something.
But when I sometimes turned my attention to the rest of the party, I’d sometimes catch her staring at me, turning her gaze away as soon as she realized I was looking, which made me feel that she might not be as uninterested as she tried to appear.
When I went for a smoke I took my chance again, and when I brushed by her, I quietly leaned in and whispered.
“Don’t think I’m not prepared to prove it.”
She shuddered with some uncontrollable emotion, looking directly at me, all doubt that she wasn’t interested disappeared but I smiled and went outside and then by some or other magic of the evening I don’t remember entirely I never went back inside but ended my night drinking and listening to records at a friend’s flat.
When we met up for meetings again at the committee, Eloise and I would clash over things again, but there was now some underlying charge, something unspoken on her part, she’d look slightly differently at me while she argued about why I was wrong about our cleaning schedule or the like, like she wanted some reaction, which I took as a sign to react as little as possible.
If she wanted satisfaction, she’d have to beg for it.
And then, one night, out of the blue she wrote me.
“whats up” she wrote.
“Nothing much,” I wrote back, “How about you?”
If she wanted something, she’d have to say it. I’d laid out my intentions, the ball was on her court.
“just drawing some stuff,” she said and sent me some pictures of sketches, she was very talented, which I told her, she thanked me and the conversation died out. For twenty minutes. Then:
“i can’t stop thinking about what you said that Friday,” she wrote.
I waited some time before answering, wanting to keep her on edge.
“I’m free tomorrow night,” I wrote.
Another long five minutes.
“i’ll come over at eight, if you send me your address”
I sent my address. She replied:
“are you serious about really putting me into place”
“Yes,” I wrote. “Our safeword is cuba libre.”
I went to bed without answering, thinking about her hair bobbing, her thighs shaking and how she’d sound when she came.
I was reading the next day, some theory about Russian novels or other, finding It hard to focus, thinking about Eloise, wondering if she’d actually come through. My phone lit up.
She’d sent me two pictures. Both depicted her, from her mouth down to her breast. Her lips, red with lipstick, were slightly split and her shirt was unbuttoned tow buttons down to show a hint of her cleavage.
On the second, her shirt was completely unbuttoned, no bra, showing her hand on her perky breasts and her dark nipples. She bit her lips, which was corny but somehow incredibly hot.
“just a little teaser” she wrote underneath.
I was rock hard and short of breath. If I couldn’t focus before, now my concentration was utterly destroyed. It took a lot of effort to not stroke my cock there and then. I wanted to be hungry like a beast come evening.
“You’re cute when you want attention,” I replied.
“you’re an asshole” she shot back.
I couldn’t wait to give her exactly what she craved.