There is no name for a woman like me. Most people would prefer to keep me chained in their fantasies than admit there might be a real chance of meeting me in the street one day. Life has been good to me. I have it all - looks, money, university accolades, a great job, a top range sports car, and several penthouse apartments around the world. Some might say I'm a great catch, but those who know me would be more inclined to say that I'm the one who does the hunting. My sexual appetite is voracious. More importantly, there isn't a single woman in this world, lesbian, bisexual or simply curious, who can resist my charms. Love doesn't enter into the equation. I am not a romantic. What I crave and provide is the kind of breath-taking sex that can change a woman's outlook on life forever. This is what makes me dangerous. You can call me what you like, but to my friends, I'm simply Becca.
At 5 foot 7, with long dark hair, brown eyes and a figure that's bronzed and toned, there is never any shortage of willing partners. Most women aren't even aware of their preferences before meeting me. Doctors, lawyers, film stars, shop assistants - my list of conquests is varied as it is endless. My world is a bed of oysters, and the women who inhabit it its pearls.
They have all been good in their sweet and vulnerable ways, but there was one in particular who came dangerously close to breaking the defences of my heart. What made her special was that I had no knowledge of her name, profession, nationality, background, or any of the other little details through which women like to define themselves. She was beautiful in her own terms.
It was a sultry night in the summer of June, 2024 when she drifted into my life. A club deep in the heart of London's Soho area, ablaze with the flashing lights and pounding bass of Europe's dance culture. I am standing amidst a sea of people, swarming and surging to the beat, yet she stands out from the crowd. The second I spot her in the centre of the room, I feel a familiar tightening sensation between my legs. I am mesmerised.
One thing is for sure, she knows how to move. She is at one with the music - the inspiration behind every erotic lyric of the past, future, and smouldering present. As she dances, a single beam of light catches her ivory face, illuminating it and drawing me in closer. I smile at the attempts of others to win her heart, or at least her favour. At first glance, the secret rhythms of her soul seem impenetrable, but to me, there is nothing more satisfying than a challenge. She is the moth, and I the flames of her desire.
The corners of the room are already packed with horny couples, kissing, touching, and licking in the confusion of shadows, their moans of ecstasy drowning in the music. As I approach, I notice how she glances over at some of them, the lust evident in her sea-blue eyes. At this range, I am able to appreciate every sexual detail of her fantastic body - the softness of her lips, the gentle curves of her breasts, and the way her nipples harden beneath her thin top when she catches my gaze. She blushes slightly, allowing her long, thick eyelashes to fall in submission, before turning away.
Making the most of the push and shunt of the crowd, I edge in closer still, until I can almost smell her perfume on the breeze. Soon, I am moving to the music right in front of her. For a split second, our eyes meet, and a million things pass unspoken between us. There is hunger in her gaze, but also a fragility that stirs something unfamiliar inside my heart. What it is, I don't know, but I sense immediately that there is no longer any reason to be subtle in examining the firm outline of her nipples. I lean forward to breathe a few words of enchantment into her ear, but she is already one step ahead of me.
Breaking the mould of all previous seductions, she inclines her head in a way that brings her lips into contact with mine. I am rattled, but determined to stay in control of the situation. Putting my arms around her, I pull her into the heat of my body. Her reward for blowing my preconceptions is a kiss intended to shake the foundations of her soul. I suck slowly and gently on those sweet lips for an even sweeter eternity, massaging them with my own until I can feel her melting under my touch and her heart threatening to pound free from its cage. Breathless, we break away, and for the first time I see a hint of fear in her eyes. The animal lust that exists within every one of us has apparently won her over for the first time. It makes no difference that we are in a room packed with people. It makes no difference that our public display might provoke censure from some of the narrower minds present. She wants me more than she has ever wanted anyone before, and I find myself longing for the moment when she accompanies me back to my hotel room.
Reassuringly, I resume the kiss, sliding my hands down to curves of her butt cheeks and beginning a deep massage. It's amazing how much pleasure can be derived from such a simple action. Without realising it, she has spread her legs in subconscious invitation, causing her short skirt to tighten like the skin of a drum. I am left with only one option and take it, my fingers creeping underneath to explore the abundance of flesh provided by her thong.
We grind together for a little while under the guise of the music. When I am aroused, my clit becomes swollen to the point of protruding through the fabric of my panties - when and if I happen to be wearing them. On this occasion, I'm not, and as she feels my wetness soak through her thong, my clit probing hers, she gives a low moan.
"Relax, sweetheart," I whisper, directing my soft kisses to her neck, "I'm going to take very good care of you..."
I make no pretences to be anything but a pro in this game - I am always open, and always prepared. Reaching in my pocket, I pull out a small pair of nail scissors. She flinches at the feel of the cold steel against her pussy, but stands obediently as I snip my way through her undergarment. It falls to the ground, and with another crowd surge is left metres behind us.
For a while, I leave her to enjoy the flow of cold air against her naked pussy, directing my attention to her lips for the umpteenth time. Strobes are now ripping through the air, distorting everything in sight, and reducing those around us to jerky silhouettes. The atmosphere is unreal, and suddenly I feel caught in a fantasy of my own. Seizing the opportunity, I take her hands in mine and pull them inside my blouse. She offers no resistance.
As her inexperienced fingers come into contact with my bare breasts, she freezes. My body has been blessed with a firmness that requires little extra support. The bras that I own are merely for the sake of display, part of designer two-piece sets that are suitable for raising the pulse of chambermaids worldwide. Left to my own devices, I rarely bother with the constrictions of underwear. The thrill of being naked beneath my clothes is just one of my many pleasures in life.
The strobes fade and stutter away, her hands still resting uncertainly over my breasts. It feels as though we just lost our golden opportunity. Once again, we are in the glare of a spectrum of flashing colours, lit up for the world to watch. But once again, I have underestimated her. With a mischievous smile and a boldness far from her demure appearance, she takes the weight of my breasts in her hands, feeding off the incredulous stares of those closest to us. The queen of erotica, not even I would have considered going so far in so public an arena.
My nipples tingle as her thumbs circle lightly around them, no millimetre of skin escaping. I hold my breath, spellbound. Without even looking down, I know that my nipples have become rock hard under her gentle touch. As her fingers close around them, we sink into a kiss of awesome intensity, our tongues colliding and twisting over one another, no ounce of passion spared. I feel her breath coming faster and shallower as she squeezes and rolls my nipples, and struggle to maintain my own composure. It is a situation I have never encountered in my entire life—the ice queen is beginning to melt.
A sudden indignation overcomes me and pushes my lust further than I could have dreamed. She is for the taking, and if she wants that process to take place in the company of hundreds of people, then so be it. With tantalising slowness, I trail my fingers towards the front of her body and begin to work them up the soft insides of her thighs. Her eyes spring open, panic-stricken but unfocussed. There is no stopping me now.
I place a gentle hand behind her neck, on the off chance that she might pull back and disappear into the crowds, but it proves unnecessary. As my fingers approach their sacred target, I realise that she is dripping wet, her sticky thighs giving me all the encouragement I need.
In one slick move, my hand is holding her pussy firmly. It is my possession, and she knows it. Checkmate. Her legs wobble slightly as she fights to comprehend what is being done to her. It's wrong, it's inappropriate, but no reasoning could ever eclipse the thrill of this moment.
I feel her hands enclose my breasts as I push my own hand upwards. There can be no escaping my stubborn hold, and she rests her forehead against my shoulder in utter submission. I massage the back of her neck, and we slow dance, her movements emanating more and more from her hips. She parts her legs a little further - enough to cause my middle finger to slip between her pussy lips. I give a chuckle at her impatience, and slide it slowly forwards, passing over her throbbing clit right up towards my mouth.
For a split second, she looks up and appears on the verge of passing out. I run my tongue over the tip of my finger, before taking it completely into my mouth and sucking off every drop of her nectar, my eyes not leaving hers. Her pussy tastes every bit as sweet as I had imagined.
There is little time to waste. Although the club will be open for a while longer, and my patience is eternal, I can sense that my new lover is close to exploding. Making love is an art form in which I am one of the grand mistresses. When it comes to women, I pride myself on being able to judge their state of arousal from initial eye contact to the point of no return. Furthermore, I can tell at just one glance the type of orgasm a woman craves - whether it's the result of slow seduction, erotic play, or downright domination. The first is a gift, the second a result of years of experience. While my gift is serving me true on this occasion, my experience is useless, for the beauty standing in front of me is a law unto herself - just like me.
I reach back under the hem of her skirt, relying on the bond of female intuition that is growing between us. She thrusts herself immediately towards my fingers. Placing two fingers firmly on the outer lips of her pussy, I spread it wide open, and hold it in that position. She moans softly into my shoulder as the seconds tick by. It must feel like a waiting game, the ultimate tease. She gazes up at me desperately, burning in lust.
I am walking a tightrope, and I am all too aware of it. Ahead of me the ambitious goal of arousing her even further, and either side of it the possibility of pushing her to an orgasm that has yet to reach its full potential. To add to the challenge, this woman has the most sensitive and receptive body I have ever come across. By now, women are usually moaning and writhing and asking me where I've been for the duration of their lives so far. This time, the stiletto is on the other foot. I never want this moment to end.
Slowly, I ease my middle finger up towards the centre of her pussy, stretching it out along the length of the soft, moist flesh. I feel her clit throb against my knuckle, and my own pussy beginning to flood. She rocks back and forth in time with the music, her clit caressing my finger and sending wave after wave of rapture through my body.
Before long, her movements are so intense that I feel my fingertip beginning to slide inside her. I pull back. There is still some ground to be covered yet. Locking my finger into a position that's just teasing the entrance of her pussy, I begin to tickle her, trailing my finger with a feather-light touch over all the sensitive nerve endings in that area. One by one, I feel muscles of her pussy relax. If I were in a situation that allowed me to lay her out on the floor and spread her legs, I am sure that the entrance of her pussy would be gaping in readiness for my long fingers.
I release the sides of her pussy, allowing them to fall together around my finger. Slowly, I slide my finger towards her clit, and begin a steady, but firm massage. She lowers her head further so that I can feel her lips against the top of my breast. As I touch the most intimate part of her body, I am aware of her weight bearing down heavier and heavier upon me, but with my ultimate goal in sight, I have more than enough strength to support her.
My hand moves down to the centre of her back, steadying her while I play a rhapsody on her clit, but it doesn't stay there. As my fingers brush over her perfect butt, I feel the tension in the muscles that's begging release. I follow the curves, suddenly stopping the movement of my finger over her clit so that she can appreciate what is about to take place in the opposite end of her pussy. She shudders when my fingers make contact with the soft wetness, moaning into my breast. I can feel the pulse racing through her clit and the early contractions of a colossal orgasm.
I run my finger over her clit once more, and feel her pulling my two fingers inside. Never one to disappoint, I thrust them all the way inside her, right up to my knuckles, before pulling them back out again and doing the same thing once more. My pace increases, and soon I am fucking her fast and hard, giving her clit more attention than it has ever received in its life, no doubt. She climaxes with the first penetration, her pussy muscles squeezing against my probing fingers in uncontrollable ecstasy, but I continue to fuck her, pumping in and out of her tight pussy in the rhythm of love.
Orgasm after orgasm racks her defeated body, the contractions in her pussy so powerful that soon I can hardly move my fingers. People are now staring openly, not quite able to see the details, but aware that something out of the ordinary is taking place before their incredulous eyes. I stop only when I feel her body slump into mine. At first, it seems that she has passed out, but soon I feel her shaking like a brittle leaf in the breeze. She is sobbing her heart out.
I slide my fingers out of her exhausted pussy, and hold her for a slow, sweet an eternity. The post-orgasmic female - fragile and in need of tenderness. Where the woman in my arms is concerned, I have it in abundance. No longer part of a well-rehearsed ritual, I feel it coming from my heart. Placing one hand against her back, I run my fingers through her soft hair. My entire life flashes before my eyes - my conquests, my restlessness, the stones around my heart that are beginning to crumble...
She looks up at me and I see peace in her steady blue gaze. She speaks for the first time - a low mumble, something about getting a drink. Starstruck, I release her, placing a final kiss on her forehead. I take her hand and give it a gentle squeeze, and as her fingers slip from mine, she disappears into the shadows forever.
That brief encounter plays over and over like a movie scene in my mind. It haunts my nights and disquiets my long, lonely days. I have no idea what happened to her. Part of me would like to think that she became lost in the crowd surge, disoriented by the flashing lights, and is still searching for me to this day. I'm certainly searching for her. In the meantime, it might be worth keeping your eyes open for me. I'm still around and I still have my needs. Who knows? One day I might even be fulfilling your darkest fantasies.
