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I’m not a deeply religious man. In fact, how I found myself with her small but surprisingly firm hands around my neck cutting off oxygen to my drug-fueled brain was only due to the unholiest of reasons. But as I gasped for what I thought could be my final few breaths — fading in and out of consciousness as this tatted up goddess was aggressively riding me into a literal grave — I saw the divine light. And I have never come harder in my life.
After spending the better part of the previous seventy-two hours engaged in the intoxicated festivities of Pig Dinner, my fraternity’s annual alumni reunion weekend, I was already delirious from sleep deprivation when I flew back into Austin early Sunday morning. Once I got back to my place, the idea of leaving my mattress — for any reason — was the furthest thing from my mind. But just as I was trying to catch up on some shut eye, I was interrupted by my phone blowing up from threatening texts and phone calls every five minutes from my buddy Josh who I had been couch surfing with in Orlando for Piggy. I ignored the first hundred or so notifications, but his persistence finally caught my attention.
I opened up iMessage and read “Hey jackass, if you don’t call me back right now I’m going to hunt you down and put two .45 auto, jhp, 230 grain rounds directly into that pathetic excuse you call a sack.”
Apparently as I packed for my flight in the dark in a 4 a.m. drunken stupor, I accidentally threw a pair of his jeans — which were atop my pile of clothes on the ground — into my bag. Not exactly the most urgent of issues. That is, if you don’t factor in that those pants had both his wallet and car keys in the front pockets. So, out of the goodness of my heart, I left my bed, went over to FedEx, and dropped $60 to overnight his possessions back to Florida as he continually pestered me via text.
That’s when I was rewarded for my generosity and ran into little miss burgundy-haired temptress. She was an older woman that dripped sex appeal: tight slender body, long legs, some of the best sweater puppies money can buy. Think of a Melisandre from Game of Thrones vibe, but with a sleeve tattoo. For those of you that don’t watch that “nerdy Dungeons and Dragons bullshit,” here’s a picture for you try hard philistines to reference.
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We struck up a conversation, I somehow cracked a few decent and comprehendible jokes in my comatose like state, and she invited me next door to grab coffee where things continued to heat up. After getting a bit of her backstory — a divorcee that trains horses for a living — it was more and more evident that one of my biggest fantasies of conquering a cougar was well within reach. She encouraged me to go back to her place to smoke weed, I hastily agreed, and thus started the most incredible night of my twenty-four years on planet earth.
The ambiance of her apartment alone should have been a dead giveaway that I was in for a wild ride. Black and white portraits of distant relatives were mounted next to tiger statues, giant mirrors, Shakespeare books, taxidermy deer heads and other animal skins covering just about any square inch of open wall. There was no overhead lighting or television, just antique lamps and swanky furniture. She turned on some crazy hybrid Kung Fu hip-hop beats, handed me a bowl, and we toked up.
Maybe it had something to do with not sleeping for three days straight and me basically running on fumes. Maybe it was just some good ass ganja. Or maybe it was all of that combined with a glass of water she gave me that didn’t quite taste anything like the traditional water we’ve all grown to know and love. Any way you break it down, I was stoned out of my damn mind in this femme fatale’s House of Habsburg hunting lounge of horrors, and I’ve seen way too many movies that follow this exact script of a seductress offing the character in my position with a butcher knife to the heart or slash of the throat. It was the most terrifying, unnerving, exhilarating, and arousing experience of my young existence.
Now, I’ve fucked around with handcuffs before, done the whole public sex thing, messed with a vibrating cock ring, and even flooded a girl’s apartment from getting too rough and adventurous, but this whole Black Widow scenario? This was a fetish I never imagined even existed, let alone something I thought I’d enjoy.
And I know it’s a slippery slope. If I keep going down this road, it’ll get progressively worse. Before I know it, I’ll be holding a loaded gun to my head to get off. But we’ll cross that bridge when we get there.
It’s not just paranoia, either. Granted, that certainly played a role, but she definitely propelled it forward with comments along the lines of “I’m in control now” and “I like to torture my victims.” I was positive I was going to end up a lampshade or a treat for her stoic Doberman who eerily watched from his bed without making much noise as if this was something he’d seen before. Yet, I did nothing about it. I accepted my fate, was oddly turned on by being murdered in cold blood by some naked enchantress sexpot, and let her do whatever she wanted without a fight.
We slowly took off our clothes, and engaged in foreplay for what seemed like an eternity before she climbed atop and started riding me like one of her prize thoroughbreds at the stable, even calling me “her little stallion.” We then made our way to her bedroom — which was also full of mirrors — and proceeded to go animalistic on one another for a good half hour. I was rocking a fully torqued fear boner throughout, still convinced she could put me down like a racehorse with a broken leg behind the barn at any moment. Eventually she got back on top and that’s when my self-fulfilling prophecy was seemingly coming true. She clenched my throat and forcefully pushed down while continuing to ride my dick clean off. Just as I was losing consciousness, it finally happened. She let go of my neck and my piece erupted so violently, it would have made Hiroshima look like a roman candle by comparison.
As I laid speechless, still trying to catch my breath and mentally process what the fuck just transpired, she looked me straight in the eye, cracked a smile, and simply said, “I know…you’re welcome.”.
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