Under Her Thumb

Under Her Thumb

    I gaze at the young woman with boy cut hair. She is a major distraction from my sophomore short story writing class. Her Puckish grin fascinates me. She is a sweet strawberry-blonde kissing girl.
    The time comes for us to read excerpts from our stories. I recite from my story about being married to a dominate woman. In my tale my wife arranges my life to her delight. She handles my money and assigns the household chores to me.
    My androgynous beauty winks at me as I close my reading. My heart flutters with the hope that my story will turn real in the arms of this androgynous  woman.
    The professor dismisses us and I watch the girl of my dreams sashay toward me with mischief written in her eyes. She stops me in my tracks with her hand forcefully grasping my shoulder. I return her smile with mine.
    The tone of her voice commands me to be still. She says, “Hey there kiddo. I loved your story. It sounded like a fantasy of yours. I’ve written stuff along those lines. However, mine get risqué and dark. Men are such curious creatures. I often like to top them.”
    I reply, “What does that mean to ‘top’?”
    She pats me on the chest. She pinches my nipple through my shirt.  She says, “Oh hey I’d love to show you. Let’s go to the movies tonight. You look like you need a break from college homework.”
    I feel both bewildered and intrigued by her. I say,  “I haven’t been to the movies in ages. Yes let’s do it.”
    She gives me her pen and stretches out her hand. She says, “Here, write your dorm addy on my hand.” I eagerly obey. She squeezes my other nipple. Then she places her palm upon my chest. She says, “Your heart is racing. Don’t worry. I won’t hurt you too much. I’ll pick you up at seven.”
    I feel tingles from her fingernail pinches.  I say, “I’ll be there or be square.”
    She replies, “You’re well on your way to leaving square behind.”
    I turn and feel her nails dig into my denim covered bottom. I scurry off to my dorm room.
    That night she knocks on my door. I open
the door and see in her blue eyes vistas of a world I long to enter. She holds my hand tight and leads me to her car. I sit next to her. I have a school boy crush on her. I haven’t felt such an endorphin rush since my first and only date in high school.
    She drives us into the suburbs where cinematic bliss awaits. She parks and kisses me on the cheek. I feel surreal. She says, “You looked like you could use a kiss.”
    I am high as a stratosphere balloon. My manly mushroom rises to my Apollonian delight. She leads me by the hand into the theater. I sit next to her as the movie unreels before my sex stoner eyes.
    Her hand slips between my taut thighs. My mind is swirling in kaleidoscopic wonder. A man announces, “will the guy slipping acid in the third row please depart the theater.” The audience laughs in polyphony.
     My dark lass slaps me hard on the thigh. The percussion snaps through me. My mind is too far gone to resist.  I gaze into her steel blue eyes. She escorts me to the aisle and ushers me into her car.
    She drives me to her condo. Her hair is soaked in pheromone passion, the essence of female aggression. She says, “Well now it’s time for our game to begin in earnest. My name is Huntress. You will address me by my proper name or be punished accordingly.”
    I say, “This can’t be real.”
    She reaches out and unzips my jeans. She says, “Let’s undo your belt. There now your leather strap is mine. It has more uses than holding up pants as you’ll soon discover.”
    My dark maiden chains me like a butterfly in spider’s web.  She shackles my arms from above. My legs are parted in a sacrificial pose.
    My delicate pear of pleasure dangles.  It is a candle which burns with desire and is ready for the spark of her touch to breathe life into my flaccid torch.
    My thighs tremble under my Huntress’ penetrating gaze. Her leather clad being ripples with power. In midnight predatory passion she weaves her web and entangles me as her prey. Her ravenous ritual begins. Huntress’ rapacious hunger is not to be denied.
    Huntress’ fingernails blaze trails of pleasure in a burning path under my fragile eggs. She follows
my rising totem. She digs her claws into my supple derriere.  Huntress’ feline prowess pricks sensual stars aflame in my silken skin.
    She passes from my field of vision to slip behind me. I feel the sting of my belt upon my boyish bottom. The fire of paradise erupts with each lash of leather upon my skin. Firecrackers pop through my derriere.
    Then her hand sends falling star streaks deep in my hemispheres. The ache of a million double helixes blossoms in my buns. I feel the lick of her hand melt my pleasure planets into magma. Heat and flame obliterate my ego. My body becomes an ocean, fathomless and ancient. The rhythmic pulse of her paddling strokes my cellular being into Buddha awakening.
    My totem pole rises from her drumbeat on my buttocks. She gives me the gift of sun birth with the fusion of her epidermis upon mine. I need her female arson to never end. The seeds of my Eden sing deep in my manhood.
    With her frenzied desire mistress spanks crimson heat into me. She circles me and kneels. She fondles, sucks and licks my balls. Then she
teases the fuck out of that  gspot area under the
crown of my penis and makes my dick sing.
    I feel the power of her lips and tongue pump me. She slips behind me and crouches like a tiger. She unclasps the locket of her secret being with a whisper of, “I need this as much as you. I am a slave to your pleasure.”
    With those words she penetrates me with fingers wet with her saliva. She massages my  prostrate with deep strokes of  love. The spidery fingertips of her other hand spindle my rod in strands of bliss. I am enmeshed in her sticky sensuality. “NOW!” she orders. My hardened delight swims with pleasure till my seething seeds burst in a supernova sacrament. Her womanly tongue gathers the harvest.
    She says, “I can tell you’ll come back for more sweetie. You took your whipping like a man. Now let me rub the soreness from your red ass.” She presses her butterfly fingers into my posterior flesh. The sting of my marks is soothed by her touch.
    I dress  as she buttons my shirt and zips up my jeans. She puts the finishing touches on me by biting my lip. Unlike her peck on my cheek in the
parking lot, she kisses my lips and teases them apart with her tongue. I feel her probe my mouth.    
    She drives me home. She says, “What would our professor think if you wrote this one up for workshop? Class with me will never be the same for you.”  
    I reply, “With you I’m living my dream. We’ll keep our story a private one. The shy girl, who sits by the professor, would faint I’m sure.”
    Huntress laughs. As I step out of the car she whacks me on the bottom. “One to grow on” she says. I look back at her and say, “My birthday is coming up soon. I’ll be 21.”
    She says, “You have yet to meet my riding crop. You will soon.”
    I say, “You know the way to a boy’s heart.”
    She says, “I have a surprise for you birthday boy. My partner in crime. Her name is Miriam. Oops, spilled the beans. I never could keep a secret.”