“Every villain has their defining moment, that point in time where their motivation crystallizes and the methods they’ll use to twist life to their ends become plain. This is mine.
I was 17. He was a virgin.
Even early on I was insatiable and had an attraction to the shy boys, the big boys who bragged bigger but had wants they could never admit to themselves, the boys who I could corrupt. The ones who could be willingly corrupted, and then pushed further, and then molded – or discarded when they broke.
It was easy. They were drawn to me. They could sense I would draw them in, then push them.
I was insatiable and I was a teenager, a pretty, developed teenager, and I was insatiable. And no one would say yes to me.
I felt it was owed me. I feel like I’m entitled to sex, and not just the sex, the playing with men’s minds. That’s what makes me what I am, right?
And what makes my minions what they are is that they can’t say no to a gal like me, not even if they want to. I love hearing them say no when they mean yes – then twisting it to yes when they mean no, know they should be saying no but can’t bring themselves to say it.
I was a virgin, and I was sick of it.
Before the virgin I took was the one who wouldn’t take me. He had a girlfriend, and I had a boyfriend, or a minion who loved me and took me to dinner at any rate. (I think I loved him, but I don’t enjoy love, so it’s really hard to say.) He was older and almost as frustrated as I was… his girlfriend didn’t enjoy riding his cock, and I thought I might.
He said no. “I’d feel like I was intruding on your boyfriend’s claim.”
I am mine to give or withhold, to buy or sell at or above market value, and no one else’s.
My love for tease and denial was born that night. He denied me – I returned the favor and left his cock swollen and aching. I rode the train home that night sleek and sated on the lust in that hotel room. I didn’t come, then. I didn’t need to. It satisfied me to watch him squirm, and moan, and beg, to feel the heat and crackle in the air, to feel his skin shiver when I ran my fingers down his back. I felt his cock hard against my thigh and I knew that the sex I imagined having with him, taunted him with, and then never gave him, would be so much better than any sex he could ever actually give me.
It’s revenge, sure. Shameless. But that’s what makes me a villain. Every villainess needs a revenge story.
My virgin – my minion – denied me too.
He was a fucking fool. I owned him, in every sense that counted, every sense that mattered.
I pushed, and touched, and asked, and invited, and pressured, and stroked until his no turned into a “Yes, please, now,” and then I told him “No, I wouldn’t want you to feel pressured.”
And I pressured him. Over and over. I wore long, black lacy slips to bed instead of nightgowns. I asked him for kinky sex, romantic sex, hard and horny sex, I’ll-be-flying-home-tomorrow sex… I bought stockings, garters, and a red satin corset. If you think my tits look good now you should’ve seen them then. I wore a purple bra and matching panties of see-through mesh trimmed with satin and lace. He was hard instantly, he had to touch my ass through the sheer mesh panel but it wasn’t enough to make him fuck me, or let me fuck him.
What a gal like me loves – and hates – is a man who says no, but not enough no to make me believe it.
I don’t remember what made him finally say yes after saying yes and then falling asleep on me twice before (the first of many let-downs). I did pull out all the stops to seduce him. I was wasting my time, but he was very submissive and more masochistic than was healthy for either of us and I found that rush addictive.
I remember the caresses, his fingers stroking my slit until I was wet and opening and hungry. I remember my lips sliding, wet, over his shaft. Making him groan. I remember finally (finally!) helping him roll the condom down the length of his cock, then climbing astride him and lowering myself down onto his cock, feeling stretched, feeling no pain, only a sweet, sweet tight fit and a fullness that was almost exactly what I had been craving. I wasn’t in heaven, it was someplace better, earthier… the blessed isles maybe, or Elyssium.
What was it, five minutes?
He kept asking to kiss me, asking me to bend down and kiss him. I didn’t need kisses; I needed to not lean forward and risk his cock slipping out (I’m a short girl). They always think I’m sweeter than I am, or maybe it’s just they can’t admit they need what I don’t; the cuddling, the hand-holding, the flowers. He’d give me flowers and I’d ask for him to talk to me, and to let me fuck him. It was about the show and not the substance – all I got was the hollowed-out shell. I’d rather do without the shell and have the creamy center, or for the rare men with both, drain out that center and leave only the shell holding him together…
He made me breakfast and gave me footrubs and let me torture him and that made him useful but no one minion is good for everything. I deserve good service (and many minions).
Our game played out like this: Tease. Deny. Tease. Deny. That’s what I was receiving, but what I dished out in return was the promise (unintended) of sweet, romantic love and sensuality and the reality of a mercurial, sexual bitch.
I ate him alive. It took seven years. I think of it as paying my fey tithe to hell.
I cut him loose, after it was too late. He says he’s getting better but he’ll never be the same.
It’s not that I have no mercy – I tried to give him mercy. He refused it. I offered to release him and he begged me to stop being so mean to him and let him stay. He couldn’t recognize my mercy and he punished me in denying it.
I don’t like what I became with him, you understand? Words were always my weapons, and I only used them to play, before. With him I found a new arsenal and a vicious streak – no, it went beyond vicious. It was evil. It wasn’t even human, or controllable. It was totally unthinking, pure blind rage.
I’m dangerous then, but I’m more dangerous when I go cold.
This is what I am now. I use men for my gain and my pleasure. I take their sex from them, and their money. I take their pride. I eat their lust. They serve me. I’m evil, la belle dame sans merci, a femme fatale.
And I love it.”