Strike Me Gently

The tremor of his hands, gently pulsating against the surface of my skin was taunting. Intentionally trickling the tips of his fingers down my legs, brushing up towards my inner thighs. Reluctantly, my body loosened in response, inviting his lips to explore me. Twisted in his hair, my grip tightened as the warmth of his breath tickled my senses, igniting my suppressed desire and yearning. Whispering in my ear, gradually moving his mouth down to my neck, lingering his lips up against the nape. Wrapping my legs around his waist, defensively controlling the proximity of his body against mine, I knew I had to resist the desperate yearning I had for him, but defying my body's needs to surrender to the pleasure proved next to impossible. Perforce, every muscle tensed in retaliation to his touch, forcing an involuntarily moan to escape in response. A sound holding the connotations of satisfaction and utter ecstasy, a sound possessing the power to influence another. A sudden surge of power washed through him, forcing him to thrust himself into me, all motivated by his drive for fulfilment.

Aware of how my body tensed in reaction to the sensation fuelled his hunger further. Before I was able to acknowledge the rush of pain, he had me up against the wall, aggressively increasing the momentum of force he exerted into me. All awhile grazing his teeth up against my body, softly skimming the outline of my collar bone with the tips, trailing down to my breasts, nipping at my arousal. The thrill really tested my strength and in the moment, my ability to withhold willpower was a detrimental mistake.

Outdoing my own expectations, I commend myself on the success of my experiment and achieving what I had set out for. Solemnly relying on every personal encounter of mine to fall helplessly victim to my malicious facade of innocence. To succumb to my strategically posed naivety and 'in-capabilities', my intentions were never really expected or foreseen. Perhaps stereo-typically so. No one ever apprehends the possibility of the cliche 'golden girl' to be capable of such things, which certainly worked to my advantage. Fact is; if no one expects, nor believes the true competence you hold for vengeance, winning over a plea of denial is as natural as breathing. Candidness is almost a guaranteed conviction, in spite of what the truth or evidence may suggest. 'Innocent until proven guilty'. Yet proof is such a temperamental concept to play with. Fickle and ambiguous. What is wrong to one may be right to another. We all hold the potential of manipulation. Will and determination are really all that is needed to fuel your motivation. Channel that to satisfy your own pleasures and everything else will fall to your disposal.

Convinced this leaves you dangerously tainted? A plausible emotion to feel in it's aftermath. But the truth remains blatant. Human beings are flawed by nature. Doing right does not guarantee the same favour and consideration will be done to you. As appealing and feasible as karma may seem, it has yet to prove it's credibility. Life is bitter and cruel. It owes you nothing and will not hesitate to remind you of this. A proven method of contest is beating it at it's own game. At least, that is what I was focused on. And by that, I mean returning the disease-riddled hand life had offered me.

Despite my restrained determination to get all I wanted, it all proved disappointingly easy. Playing into the idea of a cliche was a turn-off. An outcome only expected in the most predictable of situations. Exuding seduction and sex, utilising every part of my body to catch his attention almost appeared unnecessary. All it really took was the subtle flutter of eyelashes, accessorised with a conspicuous grin flashed in his direction. Cunningly suggestive proved to be his type, exactly the role I had taken on. His immediate interest in me eclipsed every anticipated outcome I had for the situation. I had control over him long before he even had the chance to suspect a thing.