Rachel Is A Relentless Tease

I know her enough to know that involuntarily is the last thing it is. Rachel is a relentless tease and she's probably absolutely thrilled to have such a susceptible mark. Only too happy to let him stutter and stumble in his words while she presses a little closer and turns so her breast squeezes against his arm.

Almost in perfect time, Blake crests his hand over my breast. And with no bra in the way there is nothing to hide me, nothing to disguise his touch. Nothing to give me dignity.

Instead it's bare skin on bare skin. Breathless as I reach out for purchase and find only him to support me.

"Nothing?" he asks me, "So naughty."

"Oh god," I moan, hearing him chuckle next to me.

"Tell me that you like it Emily," he orders me, "Tell me you don't want it to stop."

I speak without thinking. I work on instinct.

"I don't want it to stop."

Blake pulls me back a little, a little bit further from the group and a little bit closer to indecency if we haven't already crossed over into that. He moves me a little closer to the wall, bumping against me as he does while his hand squeezes my breast before it pulls back, finds my nipple, and pinches.

While he pinches me I sigh and I feel his lips on the nape of my neck. He kisses there for a minute before moving up until he's pressing his lips at the hinge of my jaw, so close to my ear. I hear him sniff and then tease me as he whispers.

"You smell like sex."

My jaw clenches and my eyes clamp shut. Unbidden, the memories of what I did today run through my mind in a rush, all of it playing out without any ability for me to deflect it.

In an instant I feel everything from that gloryhole and from the cab ride before it. All of the tension building up and all of the release from every time that I came. The fantasies in the shop before we stumbled into the back all tangled up in my mind as my whole body tenses and then shifts to remember the heat, the taste, and the sensation of each and every load that splattered on and in me from all of those men that I'd satisfied.

Fuck.

I had been Emily for days and already I can't keep track of things in my head. Counting is an impossibility. Each climax gifted to me from my talented lips or tongue is a memory that I can't even cherish anymore because they're all mixed up in each other.

I've done so much. I've experienced so much. I've wanted with all of myself.

So what's one more?

This is an addiction, and I know it. Any amount of self reflection would show that to be the case, would prove it to me. And I may not want to admit it to myself and I may not even know where it comes from, but I know what it is.

I'm addicted to the pain.

There is an undeniable element to the humiliation of this. Of him. My complicated feelings being torn up and tumbled together into such a tangled mess that I can't pull them apart or make any sense of them at all.

Awareness of the complexities of human passion came to me shortly after awareness of pleasure at all. Always a confusion for me, that became so much clearer when I realized that there were people in this world who combined and conflated pleasure and pain into a singular powerful sensation.

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