Touch Me: Erotica Book 1 (The Virgin to Vixen Series) Read online

  Touch Me

  Published by Crystal C. Waters

  Copyright © 2011 by Crystal C. Waters

  [email protected]

  All rights reserved

  EBook Edition, License Notes

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to your favorite eBook seller and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Dedication

  To everyone: We all start out as a virgin and somewhere along the way we find the middle ground that turns us on.

  Please read before indulging:

  This erotic short story will continue with several sexual episodes. It is a piece of fiction intended to arouse the reader. This short story should be viewed as such. The story will lead you on an adventure into a world of sex that you may or may not be familiar with.

  Please note that these stories contain explicit erotic and sexual content. Mature readers only. Reader discretion is advised.

  Please further note that all characters depicted are of legal adult age.

  Cover by: Crystal C. Waters

  Cover picture credit: Image credit: danielkrol / 123RF Stock Photo

  Touch Me

  “I am what I am.”

  “You’re a wolf in sheep’s clothing.”

  “Then you are my prey.” My feminine hand had risen up into the air before I brought down the paddle on her pretty, white ass.

  I heard her grunt rebelliously while she tried to hold in her scream. She was perfect—she was a naughty girl who thought she could walk into our business and assume the role of a dominatrix. She would learn quickly that she would have to fuck her way up the sex chain before she could claim such a high position.

  I leaned over and rubbed the apple-red welt where my paddle had connected with her skin. It was warm to the touch, and my cold hand made her flinch. I ran my fingers into the crack of her ass and slid my pinky over her anus to the hot, wet sensation between her legs. I thought I heard her moan.

  “Now, you’re being a good girl,” I told her. I could feel my own panties quickly becoming moist over her reactions.

  “Mistress Alina? Were you put through this form of submission before you became a dominatrix?”

  “Did I say you could speak?”

  “No.”

  I saw her ass cheeks clench together. She was preparing for my pussy paddle to connect with her again. I felt a tinge of irritation that she thought I would be that stupid as to smack her when she expected it. I was much better than that.

  “My story is quite different from most. I’m not sure I could do it justice if I were to tell it.”

  “Can you try, please?” she asked.

  I knew she was trying to divert her punishment, but in a way, I liked that she asked me about myself. In this world of sexual gratification, everyone thinks of themselves. But this little red-headed beauty who I had tied down to a kitchen table with a foam wedge under her stomach so that her ass was in the air, had asked about me. She deserved an answer.

  I placed my paddle down on the table between her legs. I ran my hand over her ass and rested it on the small of her back. “Little one, you’ve earned a story.”

  I saw her eyes light up and her white teeth flash behind her perfect smile. I sat down in a chair near the table, close enough to touch her, and I began to recall the events of my life—the events that led me to the massage parlor that doubled as a fetish house. I wasn’t sure how far to go back, so I started back to the turning point that I could remember.

  “I was five years old when I first learned that sex was a terrible thing. I was sitting on the floor in our kitchen, playing with my baby doll, when our male dog jumped onto the back of our female dog. He moved in a strange rhythmic motion that I had never seen before. At the time, I thought the male dog was killing the female dog. But I watched in awe until my mother walked into the kitchen and kicked the male dog in his ribs.

  “My mother’s high-pitched screech along with the dog booted across the room scared me. But I was intrigued by my mother’s response to what the dogs were doing as much as I was intrigued by what the dogs were doing. My mother had made her feelings of dismay and revulsion clear to me—sex was sinful.”

  “Wow!”

  “I know.” I stood and began to pace. It was suddenly awkward to talk to this female stranger about my childhood. But oddly, it felt therapeutic, as well. I could tell that my red-headed vision of beauty was eager to hear more of the story. I walked behind her, picked up my pussy paddle and slammed it hard against her ass. This time, she didn’t expect my paddle. That was what made her surprised reaction even more exciting. Like a mouse, she squealed out in pain. I had her good.

  I continued my story. “My next encounter with sex was when I was eight. I heard a moaning sound that came from my older brother’s bedroom. I was curious, so I got out of bed and tiptoed to his room. His door was cracked open a tiny bit, and I could see my brother watching a movie on the computer. When I looked closer, I could see that movie included two girls who were kissing. I inhaled and threw my hand over my mouth to keep a gasp from escaping. When I looked at my brother, I only saw his side profile. His right hand moved up and down his dick. At the time, I compared it with Snickers, our male dog. I was mesmerized at the pleasure he looked like he was in the middle of enjoying.

  “I was different. I knew my body was different from his and Snickers. I didn’t have what they had and that made me jealous. I wanted to continue to watch him, but Mom broke up that party, too. She came through the hallway and saw me peeping at my brother and all hell broke loose. Once again, my mother had scorned him with her verbal tirade that his act of masturbation was a sin, and she began to pray over him as he hurriedly tried to cover himself. She was trying to cast out the evil that she claimed possessed my brother.”

  “Your mom was religious?”

  I shrugged. “No, she was just fucked up. She even refused to touch my alcoholic stepfather. She had deep-seated issues with sex and she aimed to pass on her dysfunctional beliefs on me and my brother.”

  “So, how did you become a Mistress?” she asked me.

  “Don’t be impatient,” I said with my hand raised up in the air. I wanted her to know that I would slam my hand down on her bare ass at any time.

  She closed her mouth quickly. I realized that she was a fast learner in the lessons of bondage. I ran my hand through my short, spiked blonde hair. I felt my nipples pucker with satisfaction. I knew there was a lot to teach this girl, and I’d make sure that she understood the mental connection between Mistress and submissive.

  “Mistress?” she asked, her voice respectful.

  “Yes,” I said as I walked around the table, contemplating my next move on her young, fresh skin. I wanted to turn her skin from snow-white to a beet-red color. I wanted her to find pleasure in becoming a submissive.

  “Tell me more, please.”

  “Are you trying to stall the punishment that you know you deserve?” I grinned. “And the painful training you must endure to please me?”

  “Of course not. I’m ready to embrace the pain and pleasure that you evoke in me.”

  “Good girl.”

  I sat down on the chair in the dark room and closed my eyes again. I was hot and in need. I wa
nted a man’s touch. I wasn’t a lesbian. I was a teacher who taught whichever gender came into our establishment. I was a pleaser who aimed to please the public. I hadn’t always been like that, not until my journey started on one summer night on the streets of downtown Los Angeles.

  ***

  I was almost nineteen years old. My body had remained a pristine sanctuary, untouched by any human hands. Even my own hands had never explored the areas that quivered to be touched, rubbed and massaged. My firm breasts had never felt the warmth of a human hand. My pussy yearned to dribble at the touch of a man. But I was naive. I was untouched because I was taught that my body was untouchable. To touch oneself was evil, according to the way I had been brought up.

  I had gotten into a fight with my parents and stormed out of our two-bedroom rundown apartment. I began wandering around aimlessly on the streets of Los Angeles. I wasn’t sure what I was in search of, but I knew that everything and everyone I saw became a mental quest. Even the sight of a local homeless man aroused my pussy to the point of being drenched. I saw his dirty fingers sticking out of his cut-off gloves, and I wondered what they would feel like on me and even inside of me. I thought about his dirty fingers sliding into my tight, wet pussy, and I wondered if they would be clean when they slid out.

  I needed someone to release me. I wasn’t sure what needed to be released, but I was no stranger to the ache between my legs. I even purposely bumped into men and women, allowing my full breasts to brush up against them. Of course, I apologized to the people for running into them. They had no clue that I used their bodies to send a spark of desire through mine.

  Then, for some unknown reason, I was drawn into a club that seemed to be really hopping. A sign said, “Dance Party: Ladies Free Tonight,” so I went inside. The doorman stamped my hand without carding me. I wandered around in shock as my brain absorbed the throng of gyrating dancers. The D.J. was playing techno music and the bass thumped my eardrums. There were people everywhere, and everyone seemed to be rubbing against someone else in a pretense of dancing, but it seemed more like a prelude to seduction to me. I stared in disbelief at the intense sensual interaction in front of me. I was intrigued and excited at the same time. And I was especially excited to know that there were people like me. I wasn’t a freak after all. These people touched and the sexual energy of the bodies in that club was contagious.

  I became quiet for a moment. I wondered why I was telling Red my story. Then I realized I wasn’t telling the story to Red so that she could secrete her pussy juice all over my table. I was reminding myself why I was standing over a girl, spanking her ass and making her secrete her pussy juice all over my table. But telling the story to a stranger was exhilarating and passionate, almost like Red was the voyeur and I was the exhibitionist. Red’s eyes lit up like Christmas lights, waiting for the next part of the story to unroll from my lips. Who was I to let a woman down while she was excited?

  For a moment, I wondered how excited she was. I knew that I was excited because I was reliving a moment in my life that changed me drastically as a human being. But why was Red excited? How excited was she? Without warning, I stood and walked to the table. I spread open her plump ass, which was still propped up in the air, and I thrust my hand between her legs. I could feel the hot, slimy wetness that matted her pubic hairs.

  I heard her moan with pleasure. My story was torturing her, and she needed to be released as much as I did. This meant that my story was serving a dual purpose. Being the dominatrix bitch that I am, I decided to make her suffer the way that I was suffering. I removed my wet fingers from her throbbing hole and leaned over to thrust my fingers into her mouth. She didn’t hesitate. She sucked my fingers as if they were the last dick standing. She sucked them until I told her that she could stop.

  “Where was I?” After a moment of thought, I picked up where I left off. At this point, I almost forgot that Red was lying on the table and that I was telling her a story. My mind actually took me back to that night, in the club when my life had finally changed.

  I watched people dance close as they rubbed their bodies against each other. I was mesmerized. There was an older gentleman who walked up to my side, leaned over and handed me a drink. Then in front of me, he dropped a pill into the glass I was holding.

  He glanced at me before he leaned in and whispered, “You’re tense. Drink up. What I’ve given you will help you loosen up and enjoy my club.”

  I wasn’t sure what he put in my glass. It could have been as simple as an aspirin, but I was sure that it wasn’t anything that innocuous. The intensity and desires of my skin, and body that needed to be touched intensified under the spell of the mystery drink he gave me. I took a sip, and then another and soon, I could feel myself breaking free. I began to move to the music, kind of dancing as I walked around through the crowd.

  As I broke free from my mental constraints, I began walking through the club with my eyes glued on the dancers. I felt my body shedding my inhibitions. Before I knew it, I had walked through a door that had opened by a man who put in a code on the digital secure entry panel. I walked in right behind him, before the door closed, and paused as he disappeared into the dimness. I searched, through the dark, for something that would tell me where I was. And then I saw a large light. When I looked up, there were almost a hundred bodies piled on top of each other like glistening seals. Every person was nude. Almost everyone was moving in a rhythmic manner.

  I was shocked. I walked closer to the loud, slapping bodies and then maneuvered behind a wall, so I could watch in secrecy. My body felt hot. I removed my black-hooded jacket and dropped it to the floor. I wanted to take off more clothes, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Instead, I did the one thing that I had been taught not to do.

  I reached my hand under my skirt and let my fingers slide through my soft pubic hair. I believed that my spiked drink had given me a sudden release from who I was and how I had been raised. I slid my fingers between the lips of my pussy. My head flew back and I moaned at the mere touch of my soft, sweet area. I had never been touched, so the feeling was similar to butane against a match. I felt an electrical fire start between my legs. I wasn’t sure how to turn it off.

  I opened my eyes and watched the people in front of me touch and probe each other. The unique smell of sex was in the air, though I did not really know what it was at first, but then realized where the scent originated and how it was created. I was in my element—an element that quenched my artistic desire and my desire to create something unique and real with my body. The smell, the raw passion, left me yearning for more. My fingers slid from the top of my clitoral area to my small, tight virgin hole. I heard a moan leave my lips right before I heard him whisper in my ear.

  ***

  “Why are you standing here alone?” His voice vibrated against my earlobe.

  His voice was deep, melodic and oozing sex appeal. His warm breath tantalized the inside of my ear. I could feel every hair on my body stand on end. I wanted to scream, yet I wasn’t scared. He had asked me a question, and I decided to answer him.

  “Because I like to watch,” I said, my soft voice barely leaving my lips. I didn’t dare turn around. I wanted to, but then again, I didn’t. The mysterious approach turned me on.

  He was close enough to my body that I could feel his presence, yet far enough away that I couldn’t feel his touch. For some odd reason, I yearned to feel him, even if he leaned up against me just once. But then I felt a panic start to rise in my throat when I thought about this man taking my virginity. I wasn’t sure I was ready for that.

  “Someone as beautiful as you shouldn’t just watch, you should share in the delight of being touched.”

  “I’ve never been touched.” The confession had tumbled from my mouth before I could stop it. I didn’t want this sensual man to know that I was a virgin, but I wondered if he would steal my virginity if he knew.

  “Why have you waited this long?”

  I was at a loss for words. I wanted to tel
l him about my strict childhood and my underlying reasons, but I didn’t want to ramble. My hand was still in my panties, as motionless as a scared mouse. My legs were trembling with excitement and fear. I couldn’t concentrate on anything but him. I didn’t need to see him. I could tell that he was the epitome of perfection. He sounded perfect. His breath smelled perfect, and he oozed excellence.

  I took a deep breath and found my voice again. “The right man has never tried.”

  “What would make him the right man?”

  He was close enough to smell the conditioner in my hair. The tingle up and down my spine made me sporadically shiver and I realized that it was because he stood so close to me that I felt his energy mingling with mine. I felt embarrassed. I was so inexperienced, and he was so sure of himself.

  “Relax, I won’t hurt you little one.”

  The sound of the base from the music in the club matched the beat of my heart. Both moved at the pace of a race car. I wondered if he could hear my heart beat. Heck, he was close enough to feel it pulsate through my body. I also knew that he wouldn’t hurt me. I could hear the kindness in his voice.

  “What’s your name?” he leaned in and asked.

  “Alina.”

  “What a beautiful name. It fits you. How old are you, Alina?”

  “Nineteen,” I whispered. That was a lie. I was almost nineteen.

  “To be in this part of the club you have to be twenty-one.”

  “I didn’t –”

  “Shhh,” he cut me off. “Don’t explain. I won’t tell if you don’t tell.”

  I swallowed hard. I felt as though I was in trouble. I had a sudden urge to run from him. My face was no longer staring around the corner of the wall, instead, I was staring at the wall. The front of my body was almost pressed against the wall while he stood inches behind me. I think he sensed my panic because his next words disappointed me.