Pigs

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Anal

Chapter 1

She could sense his nervousness. From this close, it was palpable. He was not allowed, and he knew it. She had a different thing in mind right now though, so she was not going to penalize him for it. That, he did not know. So he was nervous.

She had become hyperaware of the effects of her physicality. By now, one could have called her a ‘kinesthetic empath’ of sorts. It had been part of the process of adjusting to each other. They had both been surprised, by the energy they had discovered and the amount of power she could wield. She knew the before Kurt, from years ago. That one seldom came out anymore, and it was a question – though not an important one – whether he still existed. She also knew the let’s experiment Kurt – the one who had tried to ‘test the possibilities’ with her. After all there was more going on than just the ‘energy’ and the control and the journey. They were intimate. From the beginning, he had not wanted to lose her. Nor she him.

The one week in Kurt, she knew well too. One can’t forget the sparks when he first appeared, and the things both discovered within themselves.

And the two weeks in and the three weeks in and the one month in Kurt, those had also long since been unlocked. There was little change after that; eventually the energy would even fade a bit, which was interesting in its own way because it made his task harder, more austere, and required more sacrifice. If she could have kept the one month in him frozen in time forever, however, she would have.

That guy was standing in the room with her right now, and he needed nothing of the sort of what was presently happening in order to be stirred, to become intoxicated, almost confused, but in an oh-so-cute way. Her presence in the room, after a period of absence, would do it. So would approaching him and letting him smell her scent. This was one of the most intense things she had experienced. To make a man weak, soft, confused, agape, simply by moving closer and invading his space. Denial made that possible. It was hard on him, but she felt it was worth it. Eventually, so did he. He would not touch her, not without her asking first. It was part of the rules. He took them very seriously, more seriously than she had expected. That was good, because she did not like pushy guys. Or at least, she did not like that behavior in him specifically.

He was sweet. Intelligent. Perceptive. Very sensitive. Both artistically and scientifically gifted. The ideal partner to spend the majority of the time with. He did not feel intimidated by an independent, driven woman. He didn’t merely put up with it – a standard she once would have settled for – he positively loved it and preferred it that way. Furthermore, he would do chores, like a perfect housewife, though that type of compliment in particular made him blush. She didn’t have to go out of her way to hide the hint of misandry that was always part of her. Had she tried to hide it, she would have failed anyway. She even found his appearance agreeable, endearing. But, she did not find him arousing. This was a problem with her, not him, and she reassured him of this often in the beginning. She had found that sometimes ‘two delicious foods don’t mix’. And he was rare, because he was not wounded by this. Or if he was, he would endure it for her.

At least that was way things stabilized. But the process wasn’t always easy. Particularly a period much earlier during which, unbeknownst to her, he tried to emulate the ‘type’ that she would feel sexually attracted to. It transpired later that he had obtained this template by stalking her facebook and checking out her ‘friends’, paying special attention to the new ones that had appeared after they had started seeing each other seriously, and whose photos seemed to elicit her approval or ‘like’. When he admitted this intrusion, and that it had been an on-going one, she was so enraged that he ended up feeling like a defendant instead of a plaintiff. Certainly that was the mood when he found himself calling her several times a day, begging her to get back together. After this continued for a couple of weeks, with her anger largely subsided, she felt that there was something commendable and cute in his behavior as well, in that rather than protest as one would expect he instead quietly intensified his workouts, started wearing contact lenses, and he never would have brought all of that up, if she hadn’t sensed something and caused the conversation to happen.

His workouts had of course very little results. He was fit but could never be athletic. He just wasn’t genetically that masculine. Besides, his brain burned way too many calories. And the contact lenses burned his eyes uncomfortably so that his trying to adjust them or tug at them became so annoying that she made him go back to wearing glasses. Oversensitive to everything.

His ‘plan’ also included acting cocky, but that part was not funny, not even one bit. She found it fake, annoying, and wanted none bahis firmaları of it. She put a stop to it right away, at the first sign of very uncharacteristic irreverence, and with a serious and stern ‘talk’. It wasn’t easy to convince him that she liked him exactly the way he was, smart, a bit nerdy, obedient – when she would categorically decline intercourse with him, and appeared to lust after random jocks instead.

She had claimed that she was raised in a catholic family, that she was saving herself until marriage. Other times that she was frigid and that she was like that with everyone. Her prior romantic interests had also heard these and more lies and excuses, provided by her only to spare their feelings and postpone the inevitable. The topic of her dual interests, of how she only got involved romantically with men she had no sexual attraction to, could never be touched, this she learned very early on. No amount of explanations or analysis, that she would at any rate agree to begrudgingly, could restore their self-esteem, or produce some semblance of normalcy.

With him, she would not get cornered into being the guilty one just for the way she was born, and that she did not choose and much less could change just by willing it – she would not be forced to try explain the difference between intimacy and lust. They were the analytical ones, the thoughtful ones, they should have figured it out. Instead, some even dug into her childhood, and she hated being made to feel that she was broken, and so clearly that weeks of online tests, and interrogations, were needed to find out just how badly and what the prognosis might be.

No, when things got that bad she preferred to just let them go. Find another one. There were so many of them. She perfected the art of replacing them. They were very similar in some respects. She liked the IQ. The nerdy kind. And she liked that they had little sexual experience, ideally none – and certainly no idea how to obtain more without relying on sheer luck. Suitably, even luck would definitely not interfere, not in the life of someone who liked to stay home all the time and detests loud places and crowds. She wanted someone who would be hers and only hers. Someone she could control. Own. And she wanted them to be totally mesmerized by her, to treat her like a goddess and a princess. It wasn’t hard. Any nerdy guy whose contact with females occurred primarily through fantasy would feel precisely that way, she had learned, if a girl who looked like her so much as talked to him once, let alone complimented him.

Delaying sex with this type of guy, who would never have this type of chance again and was terrified of blowing it, was not difficult. She had mastered the incrementalism. Feigning offense, like it was preposterous to try something so early, made them feel terribly sorry. This technique alone would buy her at least half a year, sometimes a full year. She also found it cute and funny, how so little was necessary to make them feel mortified and apologetic, and how they went to great lengths to ‘make it up to her’. She definitely enjoyed the increased attention, so that the technique was deployed even when it may not have been necessary. She felt mastery in delaying not only intercourse, but any type of ‘dirty stuff’ for as long as possible. She felt more excitement punishing them for an innocuous but unusual contact, which had nevertheless felt like a big deal to them and was surely pre-planned and rehearsed, than she would have, had she allowed them inside her.

Once a few months had elapsed, or when it appeared they were about to give up, she would provide them with affirmations which had such a powerful effect on them.

“I like how I feel when I’m with you,” was enough to inject months of hope into one of her awestruck lovers.

And with weapons such as “I like that you are not pushy like all the other guys” she would positively sink her claws in them, specifically tying her attraction to them, and their self-esteem, to the Platonism of the situation.

In some cases, but always unpredictably, she would kiss them on the cheek or on the forehead after going on a date, a date of conversation, dining, and being entertained by their wits, and amused by the difficulty they felt in hiding their emotions and their desires. This appeared to them to be an enormous milestone, and must have signified to them that they were well on their way to sex. Reciprocation was not allowed save in rare cases when they had provided high grade entertainment and intellectual stimulation. Or when they had appeared to be excessively affected by the interruptions caused by her phone vibrating, to which she attended right away, even multiple times in the middle of dinner. But almost always they did not show that they were affected by it, and they certainly didn’t ask ‘intrusive’ questions that may cause them to ‘blow it’ with her.

When she said “I really enjoyed my evening,” and this alone sent them away with a big kaçak iddaa smile of accomplishment, she felt secure.

Chapter 2

But the excuses would eventually run out with Kurt, as the relationship endured more than she had so far experienced or thought possible. So the inevitable confrontation would have happened even without the discovery of online activity that contradicted her claims to chaste sainthood and catholic fervor. Activity such as being ‘fan’ of the Aronik Swimwear community, and liking some of the approving comments below the photographs of fantastically fit, dark skinned models, posing in the sun with tight, brightly colored swimwear.

His online stalking and putting her in a corner to ‘get the truth out’ became too much to put up with just to spare him grief. “Even likes on other people’s comments… what the fuck… am I in jail now?,” she lashed out, all out of patience and determined to not be bossed around. Besides, there was no lying forever. Resigned to the idea that he would inevitably back away, as all had done before, and that she had been silly to get this close to him, she laid it all out.

She told him, that what turned her on were tough, cocky, very masculine sports ‘stallions’, so unlike him. “Even a hint of arrogance doesn’t hurt,” she blurted out carelessly because she felt annoyed, before realizing perhaps it was a bit too much honesty.

Honesty worked with him though, and the inevitable good-bye magically did not happen.

“I don’t want you to see me as pussy whipped,” he said instead, appearing to have no problem with any of it – even remaining platonic and even her infidelity – so long as this would not diminish him in her eyes.

She actually respected the self awareness and honesty. Men don’t easily admit their fears, much less to a woman. All the anger went away. She loved him.

She stated with conviction “I love you and I want you to be pussy whipped. I want you to be weak with me. We’re so close. I like you like that”.

It is in such moments that the world appears to stand still, as if stopping before a bifurcation, and computing which of two immensely diverging timelines it should pick.

“Ok then,” he said.

That odd conversation determined the timeline, and marked the return of their intimacy after a rocky period.

He respected her wishes regarding touching. That is, rarely, innocently, and always with permission.

“Can I hold your hand please?” – he asked, when going for a walk.

“Sure,” she responded. She never denied him, but felt secure and in control because he had asked.

She could touch him if she wanted, of course. But now she had built him up, and let him know what he should have been uncertain of, and always doubted – namely that she in fact, liked him, a lot. She didn’t like the fact that she had had to provide so much security. She could not risk him becoming complacent, or not fearing her anymore. She would lose control.

She would try to make him insecure again, maybe cry again, so that he would need more of her comforting.

Often, she would extend her hand so he could kiss it. This type of contact happened often. Her hand was the part of her whose fragrance and sensation he knew best. She knew when the time was right. He had not felt much gratitude in his life, he revealed to her once. But he did feel it towards her, intensely, every time she taught him. Corrected him, enhanced him. And then, allowed him to show how he felt. Whenever she complained about him, he apologized. Hearing immediate apologies was not unusual for her. But then, he also thanked her for ‘letting him know’, which her exes had not done before. So this became a routine, with the hand and all.

The inevitable exposure to her lack of impulse control was also part of the ‘adjustment’, and getting to know each other. She was quick to anger.

She was used to being able to lash out but with limits. She knew that the fear of blowing it would make her insecure lovers acquiesce to almost anything, but she also knew their ego was fragile, and harsh words would be interpreted not as words spoken in a moment of anger, or attempts at correcting their behavior or simple outbursts in a moment of stress or inebriation – but rather as conclusive and immutable judgments on their character which, if very negative, would leave them no hope, and no course of action save to withdraw in defeat to avoid even more pain and rejection.

Rejection was a dangerous weapon, she learned. Its threat can give her all the power. But its real use would take it all away from her.

With Kurt it was different. She had had to make things clear with him, and in a way he knew she was his. Knocking him down a notch would not hurt. Her accusations were allowed to flow freely in moments of disappointment, and came in clusters, which always caused him to be overwhelmed, and predictably start crying silently. Rather than feeling pity or being pacified this instigated her, kaçak bahis and one day, partly due to the alcohol, partly because his red face and his tears simply invited it and suggested a sublime relief, she slapped him. Not playfully, but quite seriously. She did not intend on hurting him, but rather teach him a lesson.

“Stop crying!” – she hit him hard. And when he did not react, and continued crying, and she felt her chest becoming very hot, and aroused, she slapped him again to get more of it.

Then everything froze. He looked down, she looked at him, surprised by what she had just done and unsure what to do next. Perhaps she was expecting him to strike back or go to him room or protest.

He spoke first, his words broken by the sobbing he was trying to suppress.

“Sorry”.

He continued to stand there, leaving his face completely unprotected, suggesting that she could strike him again had she wanted to. But she would not. Not this time.

Going forward however, this almost explicit permission and the general comfort that followed from so many things coming out in the open, caused her to behave even more freely. She would release herself on his face when needed. Not often but not rarely either, on an as-needed basis, without worrying about whether she should or not, and – most embarrassingly – without attention to the surrounding, the circumstances or anyone watching, or even staring to try understand the source of the commotion. He did not feel rejected, but rather felt that she had been tense, and that he had helped relieve her stress. So he had been useful in a way. He always apologized and took the guilt for making her angry. Stating his guilt was only a formality however, as he was totally and genuinely convinced by that point that, as she had taught him, all guilt was always with him, or with men in general. And she knew it. But she still wanted to hear it, and then, like a ritual, she wanted to feel his soft lips on her hand, watch his soft and meek reaction, demonstrating to her that she could be herself, and that it was ok with him.

There was something magnetic about her behavior of total liberty, the contrast between the calm, and the storm, and again the calm – and the idea that she would do to him whatever she wanted without stopping to think about it. And the other contrast, of her majestic stride, defiant pride, unstifled instincts, even more proud and majestic than when he had first met her – versus his careful manners, strict etiquette, how he made sure he opened doors ahead of them without slowing down their walk, and – most difficult – how he avoided staring at her in rude ways, that is, looking at parts of her body other than her feet, or hands, or face.

Pretending that her bottom was not so aggressively arousing and threatening to burst out of the small skirts she liked to wear – that her shoes were not so sexy, and that these were not connected by the most prideful, commanding and intimidating set of legs he had ever seen (at least in 3D) was hard, but could be accomplished even in his state of long, on-going chastity and hyperawareness by developing an acute interest in their surroundings. Inspecting small dents on doors, a bit of rust on a gate, a bit of grass, noticing the odd fonts on advertisements and the mistakes in color choice. Truth be told, his state was such that taking a full look at her would have been uncomfortably overwhelming – glances inevitably obtained through his peripheral vision conversely had a manageable, ideal intensity and kept him energized and excited. He thought this was a remarkable coincidence, because it made it easy for him to be polite and ‘not a pig’, and avoid the double discomfort of fixating on something he could not touch, and being reprimanded for it. His ‘not a pig’ status was particularly conspicuous because he could see every other man instead turning around and checking her out wherever they happened to be walking. Surely she noticed too, and he felt this meant earning more points for the same amount of work. Even the heel of her foot taken alone, dignified on the altar of the slim heel, sacred and beautifully spherical – demonstrated, lectured him on her superiority, amply justifying why such a different set of laws should apply to such a different being, whose appearance and manners had equally prodigious nobility.

Yes, at times she hit him. But the way her palm descended on him, like a thunder of disapproval and humiliation, and so quickly after he had made any mistake, made him correspondingly attached to her and comfortable. It seemed abnormal to him to have this reaction. And yet it was his reaction, and there was no competing reaction, and it could not be reasoned away, and it was strong. And when the same hand gently rested an inch from his lips, expectantly, waiting for him to kiss it in an act of total defeat, it made him feel awed, loved, and a determination to increase his loyalty without accepting bounds. If the back of her hand, with the delicate veins, the soft and round knuckles, and the beautiful nails was positioned lower than usual, even as low as his chest, he would gladly lower his head, happy to bow in deference as she had intended him to.

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