Puppet On A String Part 1

You watch as she walks by, her movements graceful. Oh, to be able to make her move in a different way! One reserved for privacy. Or maybe you'd like to have an audience, as you have your wicked way with her?

It feels like an eternity since you first laid eyes on her. You were captivated by her lovely smile that could brighten up anyone's day, her curvacious body that made your blood go south. Her voice like that of a siren, alluring and dangerous.

You convinced yourself that she's out of your reach, never to be held, touched, tasted. Not that you blame her, she did know you exist, you work together, after all. She was friendly, sincere, there to offer help to anyone who asked.

And God knows you needed it, considering how you can't concentrate properly, because you stare at her, instead of working.

If she noticed the way you eye-fuck her on a daily basis, she doesn't comment on it. If she did, you probably wouldn't know what to say.

So you decided to try and overcome this fixation you had. That's normal, why be hung up on one person, when there are plenty of other options out there?

You started going out on dates. Dinner, movie, you know the drill. The women you went out with were pretty enough, each charming in their own way. You treated them like a gentleman should, did everything by the book.

And yet, they were all somehow...lacking. They didn't have the right hair color, eye color, their laughter wasn't contagious enough, etc. 

So you stopped with the dates and started looking for another way of freeing yourself. Nightclubs were the next best thing. You usually don't visit crowded places, but you were desperate enough to change that.

A flirtatious look here, a teasing smile there, coupled with a few drinks, and you had your arm around a pretty face willing to go home with you for the night. 

The first time you brought someone home, you couldn't wait to get to the bedroom, so you fucked her on the kitchen counter, her legs on your shoulders, her walls clenching around your hard cock.

It was amazing, you could feel some of your stress melting away, until you looked at her face and saw...her. 

You came hard then, shouting out a name. Now, shouting out someone's name as you come your brains out isn't such a big problem.

No, the problem is when you shout a WRONG one. Which you did, and earned yourself a nice slap, as the woman you were supposed to focus on gathered her clothes and left, leaving you to massage your cheek.

That one actually hurt. Ouch.

At least you got to come, right? 

There's always next time.

There was, thankfully. More than once. The same pattern repeated- go to the club, drink, make eye contact with a potential one-night stand, flirt, go home, fuck. Sometimes you fucked them in a bathroom stall, in an alley behind the club, after you had your cock sucked.

Once it even happened in a park you pass on your way home, you almost got caught with your pants down. 

And every time, no matter how good of a lay a woman you were with was, no matter how she looked, felt, tasted...

You still thought of her, every fucking time!

Damn it, why?! Why can't you just...stop thinking about her, stop imagining it was her you're with, stop hearing her voice as a different woman moans in esctasy?!

The plan was to stop obsessing over her, so why do you keep doing it?

Because, somehow, after every weekend you've spent with your cock buried in a tight pussy, she seemed to get more and more beautiful each time you see her.

A new haircut? You imagine running your fingers through her hair, wondering if it's as soft as it looks.

New clothes? Her butt looks amazing in those new tight jeans she wore to work, teasing you as she walked past. You never felt more jealous of a pair of jeans in your life! 

What was it about her, that made you unable to move on? She made you feel like a puppet, invisible strings pulling you back. She had control over you, without knowing it.

Oh, but you'll let her know. All in due time...