Amanda was her name. I met her in some dive bar at the North end of town. Some friends of mine were playing in a band that night and I showed up to provide moral support. “The Scuzz”, they were called. It was their sort of place – sticky floors, dim lighting, barman with one eye right in the middle of his forehead, communicated only in grunts. I was out of place. I’d moved on from my punk phase aged 22 when I’d finally been able to afford some new jeans without holes in them. Still, I was stuck there for the night, so I drank, and I drank, and I hung gloomily around in the dirty corners and watched the kids bouncing around, doing the pogo like they’d invented it.
And then I saw her. I immediately thought she was trouble: tiny little skirt, fishnets, cherry DMs, plum lipstick to match her hair. She was pretty in a boyish way, I suppose, but that’s not what attracted me to her: it was the way she threw herself around the dancefloor. She crackled with a kind of nervous energy, like an over excited kitten. She wasn’t still for more than a second, darting and shimmering through the crowd. I couldn’t take my eyes off her, so when I saw her head for the bar, I followed.
I bought her a drink. She accepted as soon as I offered, and swapped her lager for a double vodka and Redbull. I tried to make small talk, which she politely ignored, while she finished her drink and then she dragged me outside by both hands, braying with laughter. In an alleyway outside the bar, reeking of bins and piss, she produced a joint from her bra and we smoked it together while she showed me her tattoo, and I told her a tedious anecdote about my workmates. After we’d finished, she stood on her tip-toes and placed her hand on my cock, then licked the end of my nose and said “So are you going to fuck me?”. At first I thought I’d misheard, but she grabbed my hand and moved it between her legs. She was nude there, and shaven, and that was enough of a hint for me. We fucked right there in the stinking alley, up against the wall, and her tongue was so deep in my mouth like she was trying to draw her breath from my lungs.
Afterwards she dragged me back inside and onto the dance floor where she continued to whirl like a flame in an updraft while my cum rolled down her leg.
Honestly she was a fucking nightmare. A total head case. It wasn’t just the usual crazy girl bullshit. She could be a perfect young lady when it suited her, elegant and demure, but she could also be wildly inappropriate, rubbing and grinding against me like a kitten in public. She was funny and charming, but she would get blind drunk and shriek like a termagant, calling me all the names under the sun. She was wildly jealous, of my exes, my friends, girls in bars, the entire internet; but if she felt like she needed attention she would flirt with anything with a pulse. She *loved* attention.
We got kicked out of a nightclub once because she got bored waiting in line for the women’s bathroom and went down on the girl in front of her. Once, after a blazing row in a bar, I stopped her getting into the back of a taxi with two drug dealers. Another time I came home from a night out to find her logged in to a video chat service, naked, hopelessly coked out. She was singeing the hairs off her forearms with a lit cigarete while thirty internet strangers jerked and hooted and shouted at her to burn her pussy, to stub it out on her tits.
Why did I put up with it? It wasn’t just the sex. She was sweet, and funny, and tomboyishly pretty. Sometimes she would come and snuggle up beside me in the bed, and just nestle into my shoulder, like a lost kid. She sucked her thumb sometimes in her sleep. She bought great gifts – it was a knack – she could think like another person, find them things they never knew they wanted. She was vulnerable, and generous, and kind. My spiky, punky, spunky little kitten.
Also, the sex. Beside anything else, not to be crude about it, she was incredibly tight. She had the tiniest little pussy, coral pink inside, framed by the most delicate labia. Plus she was kinky as hell, and had the foulest mouth I ever encountered (Amanda: “I want to be throatfucked by a room full of strangers, one after the other, until I’m so full up that I’m puking cum”). She had a childish need to be liked, and knew one surefire way to achieve it. Somehow she had learned that her worth as a person was contingent on her ability to make people cum. She gave the best blowjobs in the world, and is the only girl I ever met who could orgasm just from giving head. I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes: Amanda knelt before me naked, her eyes closed as her mouth swivelled and bobbed on my cock, shuddering and moaning as I pulsed and unloaded in her mouth. From the hints she dropped, I gather her childhood was hair-raising. “Daddy issues” doesn’t begin to cover it.
Her training started by accident. She was drunk, or high, or both, and she showed up at my place. I didn’t answer the door fast enough, and I had my phone in my hand when I opened to her frantic knocking, so *evidently* I was on the phone to “some fucking skank”. Things went downhill from there. I got her off the street and into the hallway and she screamed at me that I was an abuser, that I only wanted her for her body, that I treated her like a slut. I looked at her in her tiny black denim shorts and tank top, I saw her truly for a moment, with her heavy eye-liner and her bare feet, and I slapped her hard. She rocked backward and I pushed her up against the wall, my hand around her throat. She hissed and spat, so I forced her to her knees and unzipped my fly.
So docile suddenly, so well behaved, her tongue lashing the head of my dick. When I came, she rolled it around in her mouth, swallowed and opened wide to show me, then thanked me, and cried. I carried her to bed.
After that I understood how to manage her. Good girls get fucked. Bad girls get chastity, get spanked, get choked. I channelled her urges: she could play online so long as she wore the collar I gave her. I found her new playmates through Kik groups and Reddit. When she got high, she performed for me, and my camera. My sweet, slutty, well behaved little kitten.
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I’m Robin Goodfellow, I like words and I like filth. If this caused you to throb or to soften, to daydream or quicken, then send me orange envelopes: PM me weird shit, adulation, stern tellings off, and stylistic critique.
Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/7ilyw6/taming_the_minx_mf