Date Night

It’s date night.

Before we go out, you shower, of course. Straight from the shower, you come to me, pushing your face eagerly between my legs to pleasure me with your expert mouth and hands.

I squirt for you, crying out in pleasure and release.

I rub my hot, sweet wetness into your face and hair. Your powerful male scent was washed away by your shower and is replaced with my deeply feminine scent.

You’re marked for the evening as surely as if you wore my collar and leash in public. And every man and woman we meet tonight, will know you are claimed. Know you are mine, without knowing why they know.

We head to dinner to meet my girlfriend and partner-in-crime for this night I have planned. The three of us chat about anything and everything that comes to mind, touching under the table, teasing, enjoying the build.

After, we head out for a night on the town. A street festival. Small clubs and bars with interesting people and good music.

I’m stopping to flirt with men. I’m free for the night, to play in my natural habitat. To hunt. To stalk.

Men.

To toy with them. To give them back what they dish out, in the playful dance of ritualistic courtship.

You love knowing they are being drawn in as you stand by, watching. Keeping your eye on me as I make an impression on one after another, choosing them for their looks, their presence, and be- cause they are predators themselves.

I don’t hunt the meek.

I love needy, greedy men. To slake my thirst for their desire in those interactions. To leave them feeling like they missed something important, when they begin to bore me.

The men wonder who you are, of course. They know you are with me. They see you watching me and feel smug that they are getting my attention.

They try to push.

Maybe cop a feel.

See what they can get away with.

While I expertly play the game. Making them take each step to me, while I lead them.

And they do take those steps.

Because they feel that burning, deep down.

And somehow, they know that I can make that even hotter. More carnal. More REAL than they have had before.

And I leave them confused and aroused, with a new fantasy for their spank bank. Sometimes with my phone number to use, if they dare.

And the whole time, you watch.

And you know what they want is yours.

Even as you stand awkwardly, watching me, talking with my girlfriend, who’s smirking at you.

She’s both amused and a little sorry for you, and that stings. You love it.

You wonder how far I will take it each time. You know I’m in control.

As we move on to the next hunting ground, I pull you around a corner, up against a building. My girl stands sentry, watching and ready to call out if we’re about to be disturbed.

I slide my arms around your neck and pull you down to me.

Kiss you hard.

Whisper, “I want you to touch me. Feel my wetness. Mark yourself again, and me, before we move on to the next target.”

I want them to scent sex, before they know what hits them. I want to see their nostrils flare. I want that unfair advantage.

And so it goes for the evening.

I’m not the only one who gets attention of course. Women react to a female scent on you strongly. You are charming and attractive, and they are drawn to you. You get to flirt as well.

But all of your attention, your need, is focused on me. You can’t help. You love it. The men who see it as a challenge to take me from you. To claim what is yours.

You love that tingle of jealousy and the feeling of inferiority it creates in you.

We bid my girlfriend goodnight.

Later, I taunt you in bed as you care for my ass and cunt with your tongue.

I tell you that tonight, “You will not cum. You will please me, over and over, while we talk about the men who looked deep into my eyes this evening, whose energy met mine, and sparked. While we talk about the men who want to fuck me.”