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+--- Thread: Why I can't have nice things (/showthread.php?tid=1761)
Why I can't have nice things - SissyNektar - 09-19-2018
Why I can't have nice things
--or--
Why do it do it, why do i keep doing it and why can't i just be an ordinary person?
Waking up in a king-size bed in a VIP room on the 8th floor of Hotel Plaza should be a great feeling, but all I feel is regret.
When he hit me up, I couldn't believe it. He had a hot body, good looks, a real sense of fashion, and a great ass. I felt foolish, dressed in my kooky candy-striped witch's outfit. Surely there must have been a mistake, and yet there he was. We started talking, and it was the easiest, most natural thing in the world. He didn't seem to mind my eccentricities and I just couldn't get over how sweet he was.
He's asleep on the bed, next to me, somehow even more beautiful than when awake. I carefully extract myself from the bed and begin looking for my dress, stunned at how big this friggin' place is.
When he opened the door to the suite, I was stunned. This place was bigger than some of the apartments I'd visited on the island. The place had several bedrooms, a fully stocked bar, a club-quality sound system and a friggin' stripper pole. Now I started to feel more at home. I put on a show for him, teasing him and holding his full attention. It was a great feeling. We started talking dirty, and I told him how I liked it.
Having found my clothes I go to the bathroom and look myself in the mirror. I look like a total mess. My makeup and hair is ruined, and at this moment I don't feel my best. I entertain the thought of taking a shower, but the thought of being around when he wakes up is motivation enough to just get dressed and get out.
The sex was all wrong. It's not that he was a poor lover, or some blushing virgin. Quite the oposite. He was strong, he was passionate, he was hungry. And he was just so sweet. I tried to nudge him in the right direction, giving him hints on how to treat me like I deserve to be treated, but he held back every time. Some people are just raised right. To his credit, he tried, but I could see in his eyes that he didn't understand why the things he did turned me on. We ended up having sweet, intimate, passionate sex, and it bothered me.
As I reach the door, I hesitate. Why shouldn't I stay? Here's someone who is good to me. If I stay, he'll take care of me, treat me like a lady, fuck my brains out. Hell, I suspect the first thing he'll do is order room service breakfast, the sweetheart. I could get used to the idea of being worshipped like an angel. I open the door and leave in a hurry.
As we laid next to one another, there was the usual pillow talk. You were amazing! Was it good for you too? Will you stay the night? As I laid there next to him, little spoon to his big one, I was kind of relieved he didn't get to see my nastier side. That he didn't lose any respect for me. He could have me now, free of all the baggage that I usually carried. This could be a fresh start I thought as I drifted off to sleep.
I put my shoes on in the elevator on the way down, and then hurry through the lobby and hop a cab. In the backseat I dig into my purse, getting my phone out, dialing the Other. I have two numbers to the Other. The first one I call when I want to hang out, see a movie, play some pool, and just chill. The second number...
I wait impatiently for the Other to pick up, trembling all the while. Please let him be home. I need him now! It's so like him to keep me waiting, the smug prick. I'm on the verge of tears when the call connects. A rough, gravelly voice says "Speak" and I feel a stirring in my panties. I could never be an angel.
"I've been a bad girl, sir."
RE: Why I can't have nice things - CassidyTheCowgirl - 09-19-2018
Gosh, I love this. That fear of true intimacy is so poignantly conveyed through your words that I hadn't realized I was holding my breath until she'd left the room.
I can't wait to read more from you.
RE: Why I can't have nice things - SissyNektar - 09-19-2018
Thank you so much, Cassidy!
Coming from a writer of your skill that is high praise indeed ^^
RE: Why I can't have nice things - SissyNektar - 09-19-2018
Disclaimer: There wasn't ever going to be a part 2 of this story. However, I thought it would be fun to contrast the conflicting needs, desires and sexual politics in these two encounters. Also, I won't be able to get any sleep until I've written this down, anyhow
Waking up on the couch in the small South Side apartment to a TV silently flickering images from some morning cooking show hardly paints a romantic picture, but I feel great.
I arrived at his door, knocking on it, getting no answer. I tried knocking two more times before trying the door knob. The door was unlocked. The lights were out, and I could barely make him out, sitting in his chair. He asked why I had come. I answered he knew why. "I want to hear you say it." Feeling my face going beet red in the dark room, I told the Other exactly what I wanted him to do to me.
He's asleep in his bed, somehow even more beautiful then when he's awake. I carefully get up from the couch, looking for my dress, marvelling at how sore I feel.
I begged for it. I prostrated myself before him. He took his time, revelling in my shame and embarrassment before he finally gave me me what I desired. At this point I was ready to leap to my feet and throw myself at him.
Having found my clothes I go to the bathroom and look in the mirror. I look like a total mess. My makeup and hair is ruined and I feel a shiver of delight going down my spine. I look like such a dirty girl. I entertain the thought of taking a shower, but the thought of him waking up to admire his handiwork is motivation enough to dismiss the idea.
The sex was rough and great! He knew just how far he could push me. He knew just how to play within the rules and still spring some surprises on me. He was rough, he was passionate and he was wicked. At times I was shocked and nearly outraged at the things he told me to do or told me he was going to do to me, and yet I let it all happen. I could hear the neighbors banging on the walls, trying to get us to keep it down. "I want them to hear just what a fucking nasty whore you are" the Other growled. I gladly complied.
While in the bathroom, I hesitate. What am I doing? Why am I staying? Because he understands me. He knows why I am the way I am and he didn't reject me. And I've seen his sweet side. It is something to behold. Behind me, I hear him speak. "Aren't you supposed to pee sitting down?" Prick.
As we laid next to one another, there was the usual pillow talk. You were amazing! Did I hurt you? Do you wanna stay the night? As I laid there, little spoon to his big one, I felt vindicated in coming here. I had gone through the gauntlet of abuse, but this time on my own terms, and I had come out stronger for it. He reached over for a pack of cigarettes. I told him I hated it when he smoked in bed. "My home, my rules." I took the couch. Fucking prick I thought as I drifted off to sleep.
We have breakfast, talking about what's in store for the rest of the day. He's got to go to work, but afterwards we could meet at a bar near the Alley for some darts and a late dinner. I tell him I could meet him at his workplace and we could go together. The look in his eyes says it all.
He may be dominant, and I may be submissive, but in so many ways he's the one who is vulnerable. The last thing he wants for his buddies at work to know is he's into "chicks with dicks." The last thing he wants to do is to have to explain to his parents why he is hanging out with me. He's ashamed. He's damaged. Here I can be strong for him.
I may be a sissy, but I am not weak.