A SCARLETT SONG
Please note that this content is sexually explicit. We recommend that you should not read this content if you are offended by sexually explicit material.
Scarlett was deserving of the name Scarlett. She was exotic and raven-haired with a rubenesque physique, straight out of a painting.
She went through men as if they were becoming extinct. She craved their fill and attentions.
Often after her fucking sessions, she would go home to masturbate. It seemed the more cock she got, the more cock she wanted.
It excited her to be submissive; it excited her to be bent over on all fours, having all orifices filled. Her body and soul at the mercy of man, her pussy a vessel for their release.
While she was studying, she sought out jobs that were sexually fulfilling.
She had been working in Rub and Tug for about six months, it was an occupation littered with university students.
She loved her time working as an erotic masseuse, the cocks of Melbourne passing through her small manicured hands, these horny males now at her mercy. Their release, dependent on her wanking rhythm and her sensual touch.
She loved the conclusion – the happy ending. Their syrupy cum washing over her hand. The man attached to the cock, almost lifeless on the bed, euphoric and seemingly sleepy.
She would demand that her clients finger her clit while she wanked them, so she could get off as well.
Usually after stimulating herself at home, Scarlett would finish off the tingles caused by the clitoral stimulation with a dildo.
A nice hard pound with one of her sex toys, would give her the full release she desired. Often followed by relaxation and sleep.
Rub and Tug was a tease, the clients would be fingering her vag and arse and she would be soaked with excitement, all while pulling their varied sized penises.
She didn’t take her sex toys to work and she was finding her bookings sexually frustrating. She needed her g-spot banged. She needed to slaughter those tingles into quiet.
In the end, she would add a surprise to her bookings. Sliding on a condom in the home run and jumping on.
She didn’t even ask the men to pay, she could have. That was part of the fantasy. She wanted to be used and feel taken from. Her cunt was copping a pounding from 13 or 14 guys a shift.
The word was spreading amongst her clients like wild fire. One particular client arrived at one of her shifts with 5 mates. They all booked her, one after another. As she walked one down, 30 minutes later she would be escorting another one up.
They would wait across the road for each other in the pub, talking about the whore they just fucked.
Scarlett’s pussy was bruised and battered but in a nice way. ‘Mate-Number-5’ was the perfect medicine after four fairly rough fucking sessions. All he wanted to do was lick her pussy and he knew his geography.
As his tongue probed and penetrated at her dilated puss, she laid back and thought about an orgy with the 5 boys. Lining them up like dominoes, pleasing them with her tongue and her hole, then having them satisfy her. Scarlett’s orgasm finally arrived and the booking ended.
Those boys would come back with more boys but Scarlett would only be a memory. Scarlett was submissive but only in context, she always called the shots, her entire sexual life.
Men chased her, even stalked her, for years after venturing between her legs. Though, once she had you, she moved on. You were merely a pawn in her game used purely for her own pleasure. It was as if she no longer had a use for you.
It devastated the flocks of men. It aroused the flocks of men. A woman who fucked like they did but more often. She was the epitome of what every man himself wanted to be sexually. She was frightfully truthful to her own nature and urges regardless of the consequences or labels.
She finished her last shift and drove home. She felt a sense of power. Those men thought they were taking from her but she infact, was taking from them.
When Scarlett arrived home, she poured herself a glass of champagne and ran herself a bath. As the bath slowly filled, she changed the batteries to her electric trimmer. Her foot perched on the closed toilet seat, as she trimmed her bearded lips.
She had boasted a Brazilian wax for several years but recently had turned in favour of a bush, with only the lips shaved. She liked having the two different textures to feel when she pleasured herself, the course hair and the swollen labia, like silk.
In the bath, she attended to maintenance duties. Being a woman was all about maintenance. The shaving of the legs, the armpits. The waxing of the cunt, the eyebrows. The moisturizing of the skin, the hair. The exercising of the body to tone and scare off fat rolls. Then came the mask – makeup. Thank fuck for makeup!
After stepping from the bath and wrapping herself in a white dressing gown. Scarlett dried her hair with a towel and stared at herself in the mirror.
Scarlett painted her face, very much like a pinup. Men had told her, she reminded them of a china doll. Her eyes outlined in black eyeliner, with copious amounts of kohl shadow covering her eyelids. Her cheeks rosy rouge, her lips stained red.
How many cocks had those red lips been around? A guy, she had been shagging a few months before, was the manager of a large industrial company and before he left for a stressful day at work, Scarlett would suck his cock dry, swallowing his spill and leaving a lipstick imprint on his cock.
He had told her, that he would forget about the lipstick and be standing at the urinal during the day, only to look down and smirk.
Scarlett blotted a tissue with cleanser and gently wiped off her war paint. She then journeyed to her bedroom, switching off all the lights in the house as she past them.
It was nice to be home, in her own bed, in her own space – at her own mercy.
She rubbed her hands over her breasts and slowly ventured down between her legs. Her pussy felt so yummy, all trimmed and shaved in the right places. She was still bruised and sore and swollen.
It hurt when she gently inserted her finger into herself. It was kind of pleasurable but it stung. She had played with pleasure and pain but right now her body screamed out silently for rest. She decided to let herself be. Sometimes her body was at war with her fantasies.
Scarlett’s pussy was oppressed by her own hands. Her pussy needed its own ‘No Trespassing’ sign. But sometimes she couldn’t help herself, regardless of the pain, or soreness or tiredness. Sometimes the arousal won over, it was a conflicting matter.
As she rolled on her side, in a fetal position, she could smell her cunt juice on her fingers. She had always liked the smell of her own juice, it was musky and sweet and inviting. It was responsible for alluring the wolves.
Though right now, it was time for sleep. The wolves could wait.
© Vanessa de Largie 2013
Vanessa de Largie is a Melbourne-based actor and freelance writer. She loves all things exotic and erotic. Learn more about Vanessa’s work here.