Being straight, I've been through quite a few men in my time. Though I find readings about lesbians somewhat arousing, I could never play them out for real, though I would for ONE little deceitful blond vixen who took advantage of my boyfriend some years ago. I'm 45 now. I've met a wonderful man to whom I've committed my life to. We have a wonderful relationship and share our past entanglements we've had with others.
Devin shared with me a woman he met up with when he was working in Stockholm, Sweden. I grin to myself when I think of playing out the fantasy of what could've been a rather fateful experience for the little duchess-in-training.
Jarmilla was a 35 year old Czech Republic imigrant who defected her country when she was a teenager. Jarmilla had been married once, had a daughter and she was the grand daughter of the Duchess of Czech Republic. At one point, she and her family had lived in Russia before moving to Sweden. Her father had still been over there where he was being held due to some political fluke.
Devin met Jarmilla when he was walking through a park one afternoon and he had heard a scream coming from out of the bushes. Jarmilla was being attacked, apparently, potentially getting raped. Devin heard the scream, and like a noble knight, beat her attacker to a pulp, then aided her. That was the start of their "entanglement".
Devin had moved to Sweden because he worked for IBM, as IBM moves their employees to every part of the world as possible. He stayed approximately 15 months or so, and "dated" Jarmilla for about 8-10. In all that time, Jarmilla teased sexual relations with Devin only twice throughout their whole acquaintance.
But Devon was much younger then, and not as street-wise, or, Femme Fatale-wise, such as it was. Yes, Devon was more vulnerable and due to his younger age, his ego was more easily provoked and he rather relished the fact that he was "linked" to royalty and was completely enamoured with this idea, let alone getting a cute little blond out of the deal.
Well, fact was, from Devon's detailed description of this woman's psyche, she was highly neurotic. Her neurosis stemmed from the fact that she was basically an "attention whore" and would use sick little ploys to keep getting Devon's attention. She would call him in hysterics and would tell him that she was being stocked, and so on, but whenever he would try and call her back or go to where she said she was, he would never find her there.
Jarmilla was your typical drama queen; a manipulative, self-absorbed Man-Eating Bitch. And Devon was nothing less than a poor unassuming target for such a woman, and wanted nothing more than to be the Shining Knight to Her Royal Bitchness - NOT!
In the meantime, Jarmilla's father was still stuck in Russia and she had pleaded with Devon, since he had had connections due to his former military experience, to try and get her father out of the country and into Sweden. Evidently, this represented some danger to Devon, but, being the noble knight that he was and being quite smitten with the worthless tramp, he was more than willing, eager and able to grant her her wishes.
Over the next few days, Devon was in Russia trying to fulfill his promise to his damsel in distress. Meanwhile the damsel had flown over to Australia to meet up with her lover who had lived there. When Devon came back, with father in hand, much to his dismay, he discovered the little blondie's trek to down under land which made his heart sink when he found out as to just why she had gone.
Well, at the end of fifteen months, Devon finally wised up, left IBM and left Sweden altogether. The night he was packing his suitcase from his hotel room he'd gotten a call from Jarmilla, offering to take him to dinner, as a last ditch effort to get him to stay as her little degraded boy-toy. He turned her down and said he had to much to do. The next morning as he was standing in the baggage check-in line at the airport, the little duchess gets to the terminal right on time and declares her love for Devon, of which he ignored and boarded the plane.
Over the next several months, Jarmilla was back to her little tricks and games and would occassionally call Devon, now living back stateside and inform him that she was at an airport, somewhere in the United States and if he would come and get her. He always turned her down, as he really didn't believe in her stupid little ploys anymore, in efforts to get his undying infatuation and attention once again.
A year or so has gone by now and Devon had much earlier in the year turned his attention to his dying father and focused all his energies to helping him. One day he opened the mail and it was a wedding invitation -- from Jarmilla - surprise! Hell hath no fury..... Does this cunt have no feelings at all?? Devon said he ignored it, as he didn't have feelings for her anymore and said it didn't bother him. Though at another conversation, forgetting the context, he did exclaim that she left him to marry someone in Australia - so I knew then it really DID bother him at the time. I guess when you feel used, your ego gets a bruising, especially when one risks their life for a cheap trollup like that.
Well, fifteen years later, the little duchess appears again, no hubby in sight - he left her - surprise! So the Damsel in Distress tracks down Devon and calls him. He gave me the details of the conversation. He said she was sounding sugary sweet and very happy that she was able to find him and wanted to have dinner with him. She told him she was on her way back to Sweden and she wanted to stop off for a brief visit. He spoke to her of our relationship and told me he was rather cool towards her. She pleaded again, and at that point, he called me to see if I wanted to join them. My mind flooded with so many different scenarios. Composing myself, I had to get my curiousity satified, of course. I agreed and smiled to myself.
We met her at a loud and noisy restaurant that wasn't supposed to be very good, as our plan was to get out of it as best we could, shortening the evening. Well, she certainly wasn't the svelt little jogger she had been in her hay-day and her tiny tanned face had wrinkles around her lips and eyes. I imagined she'd gotten so brown from the Pacific sun, and it took a toll on her skin, as it sagged in crepe-like silky wrinkles on her arms especially. She dressed very stylish and her hair was colored a platinum blond, which I thought was a little strange looking against her aging and ruddy face.
After listening to what seem to be hours of her tales of woe with her last marriage, Devon and I were getting incredibly bored and we gave each other eye contact that said, "we're outta here". At a breaking point, Devon asserted that we were tired and we needed to cut the evening short. Jarmilla was very disappointed at this and looked over at Devon and concluded that they must get together for a drink sometime. I glared at her darkly.
Jarmilla paid the bill and Devon then said he needed to use the men's room before we left. When he left the table, I darted my eyes at Jarmilla and said to myself and smiled, 'this little project is mine'. She smiled a phony and nervous broad smile that cracked the tan on her face. Her teeth were overly white to the point of looking unreal. "Jarmilla", I said, "why don't you and I plan on going to lunch and then do some shopping at the galleria this Saturday?" I knew Devon would be out of town then and this would give me plenty of opportunity to spin my little web. She agreed enthusiastically and I believe her relief came from the false belief that she won me over, as keeping your enemies closer than your friends is always the given.
She'd arrived in a cab. Her hair swept up in a chignon. She wore a dress that was way too young for her and I thought she looked a little ridiculous. She had too much jewelry on that made clanky noises as she moved her arms about. I was dressed in a pantsuit and looked ready to go. Then I suggested we have a glass of iced tea before we leave, since it was going to get up to high-ish temperatures that day - little did she know - and I smiled to myself. Oh did I feel evil; I thoroughly enjoyed having my little blond mouse where I wanted her. I told her where the glasses were and told her I'd be right back and disappeared into the bedroom.
I came back alright. I donned my leather bondage outfit, thigh high boots and a crop in my hand. Emerging from the kitchen, she entered the livingroom and looked up to find me standing there with all my finery. She dropped the glasses onto the carpet and gasped. "You better clean it up, bitch", I hissed, and snapped the crop on the wall. She ran to the door but found it to be locked. Looking terrified, she demanded that I let her free. I grinned again, and to myself said 'don't think so'. I walked over to her seductively and I said, "You know you want me, I caught you looking at my breasts at the restaurant.." she started to interrupt nervously and protested that she wasn't.
I circled her now and brought the crop up to her tanned face and her blue eyes looked wide and frightened, "Take off your clothes, Cunt" I said in a low and impatient voice. She did as she was told and in silence and very quickly. Oh, how I loved frightening her. I could tell she was scared and started to wimper. She started to ask me what I was going to do with my whip, "SHUT UP", I demanded "and strip, damn it!" She continued to carry out my orders. She stood there, naked, looking degraded and started to cry. "Why are you doing this to me, I haven't done anything to you!" "SHUT THE FUCK UP, BITCH, OR I'LL BITCH-SLAP YA!", I snapped. "If you shut up long enough I'll tell you exactly what you did - AFTER you make me cum." Now Jarmilla really looked horrified - it made me smile. "Now, lay down" I commanded. Jarmilla looked confused and started towards the sofa. "Not there, you stupid clit, on the floor - you're not good enough to sit on a sofa!"
Jarmilla laid down in a prone position on the floor, where upon the little duchess had made me her Queen. I then said, "I'm going to smear my cunt all over your face and you're going to like it, got it?" Wimpering again, she nodded. I pushed her body onto the wetness of where the iced tea had spilled. "Hope you like to swim", I said and smiled. I stood over her quivering body and walked up, stand-straddling my way up to where her head was and squatted down over her little wrinkled mouth. I pulled the clit-slit apart of my leather panties with my long tapered, red nails and stuck my clit in her mouth and ordered, "Suck, slut til I tell you to stop." I realized she must've done this before, as she slurped, licked expertly, licking me just like an ice cream cone, in repeated long strokes. Then I told her to add variety and to flutter that tongue of hers against my button. She complied. Almost cumming, I got off her face and straddled her neck, walking back on my knees til I got to her stomach. I camped out there for a while as I rubbed my pussy on her belly. She winced as if in pain, and kept her eyes shut tight.
I told her to heave her stomach muscles so they expand and contract against my clit, affording my clitoris a wonderful massage. Her squishy stomach was getting slippery from my juices. I really started to slip and slide and rub on her hard, back and forth, grinding down into her. Then I raised up on my knees slightly so my twat was about half an inch from her tummy and I told her to smack her belly against my clit until I told her to stop. The smacking of her gut against my labia sent me soaring to the moon. I felt so powerful, holding captive this once manipulative, coniving little creature, who is now in my vice, like a mouse to a viper. She must've been shocked because her sobbing stopped. She wasn't even wimpering anymore, as her face took on the look of defeat. Now I was really grinning from ear to ear.
I then lightly brushed my clit against her brown tummy, ever so lightly, just teasing my little pink nub. I ordered again to smack my clit with her belly. I then beared all my weight down on her, grinding away on the soft mound of her belly once again. I would alternate between sitting on her face and gut-fucking her. I soon decided I wanted to cum on her stomach. Tightening my straddle, my thighs hugged her waist and I snapped my crop. She'd forgotten I had that whip until I snapped it and she looked at it apprehensively. I knew she was too terrified to ask what else I planned on doing with it - I smiled to myself, watching her squirm. I started to really rock back and forth, side to side, gyrating a little dance on top of her tummy and back to a serious grinding rhythm. I was nearing my orgasm as I felt it build. Then finally, feeling the sizzling insides flow from the walls of my sudden contacting vagina, I splashed my fluid all over Jarmilla's belly, winding down my convulsing, violent orgasm as I let out a gutteral "OOoaoaoaaoohhh"! The sensation was overwhelmingly fantastic! I couldn't believe how good this was feeling. I mean I've cum this way before, many, many times with my open-minded fiance, but perhaps this exhilerating feeling had to do with the sweet essence of revenge. Spent, I flopped over to one side, panting. I swiped my arm underneath the davenport and brought out a huge dildo and shoved it into her asshole, ramming in and out for several minutes. She cried out in pain and continued to shake and sob.
Jarmilla continued to lay very still. As I recuperated from my shuddering cum fest on the duchess' gut, and feeling quite satisfied that I had degraded the bitch once and for all like she deserved, I still wasn't through with her - not quite yet.
"Now, My Little Duchess," I said, "its YOUR turn to get a sensation or two." Jarmilla actually looked a little excited about this. But I knew she really didn't understand all the dynamics of just what exactly was going on. And she suddenly didn't seem to have a concern about the crop, as if she were clueless. I'd done it - I've made her deleriously numb, trashing her silly.
I decided to educate her. "Jarmilla", I said sharply, "You need to understand what it is you're being punished for and what your future holds, in so far as anything to do with either myself or my fiance, Devon." She looked at me wide-eyed again, like a lost fawn.
I started circling her again, holding the crop. She was looking very very nervous. And I started to recount her relations with my fiance back when they were in Sweden. I recounted everything Devon had explained to me. I reminded her of the degrading bitch she had been to my sweet Devon and went through every detail of her torturous, self-serving behavior she had exhibited with him and what a fantastic slut she had been for sending Devon dangerously over to Russia to get her father while she was fucking Aussi-man. Suddenly the heat of my anger had finally rose at that last recollection and by now, Jarmilla was sobbing heavily.
Feeling my intense anger, I raised my hand with the crop, stood back and flung a satisfying lash on her burnish skin of her back. I repeated this over and over. Then down on her legs, saving her face for last. As I worked up my whip up her quaking body, blood started oozing from her skin. I got up to her face now. I inched my fist down towards the end of the crop to get better control of it and started whipping her face. Blood drew and mixed in with her hysterical tears. After several minutes, Jarmilla fell into a heap onto the floor. Her sobs were weak but her body convulsed with each cry. Blood was everywhere and that annoyed me.
I made her clean up every drop of blood, along with the tea from earlier with carpet cleaner. I told her to get dressed and to stand there til I got back and not to sit on the sofa, as I felt she needed to realize her place. I came back with my other clothes back on. Her face stained with tears and a dullish red from the blood.
I looked at her and said, "I love my fiance very much, and when I learn of something or someONE having caused him any grief to any degree in any way, shape or form, they will be answering to me." Then I added, "And the worse they were, the intensity of punishment is matched. I guess you won't be wearing sheep's clothing for a while, eh, Duchess??" I mocked. "And you can forget about going to the police.." she cut in and admitted to having lesbian bondage encounteres before and hoped she could serve me in the future.
What a pitiful sight, I thought. "My dear duchess, I'm very much in love with Devon and we are to be married in three months. I have no interest in pursuing any other relations with either a man, a woman or otherwise, no less, a pathetic little piece of trash like yourself." "In fact," I added, "One more thing I want to do to instill your worthlessness..." Another look of horror came across Jarmilla's face and I read her mind as if it were saying, 'God, what else is she going to do?' I ordered her to lay down in my bath tub and I straddled her head. "Open your mouth", I barked, and proceeded to pee in it, drowning her ever-white teeth. She started to gag and then vomited. I quickly got down to her waist and straddled her stomach again. "Keep vomiting, slut, so I can feel your stomach heave against my clit". She did as she was told. I made her eat her own vomit until she stopped vomiting it back up. Then I made her clean up her mess in my tub. The stench was overwhelming and made her clean up my bathroom and then my entire house.
When all was finished, so was I. I opened the front door wide, took my foot, put it against her butt, and with all my strength, PUSH her out onto the concrete front steps, "Now, get out and stay out, cunt, and if you bother either myself or Devon again, you'll be praying to be back in that park in Sweden being raped by your attacker, as you were fifteen years ago." Tattered and torn, she defeatedly and slowly walked away, disappearing into the night.