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EROTIC SHORT STORY: Sophie and Sam
Enjoy. 
It was approaching 10pm when Sophie and Sam were walking back to The Dorset hotel. They had just eaten at The Galvin Restaurant, and they elected to walk at an easy pace so as if to delay the end of their romantic excursion for as long as they could. Sam was also aware of how Sophie’s 5 inch stiletto heels might demand a slower pace at this point in the evening.
During their dinner, Sophie was consumed by the same satisfaction that she always felt nowadays. Not only because she had just been catered to by one of the finest Chef’s in the world, or because she had just sampled the finest cuisine beautifully prepared and presented, or because she was engaged in listening to her wonderful boyfriend speaking, but because she was always aware of how her life had changed since her good, but humble beginnings.
Although the food tasted beautiful, Sophie could barely remember much about what she had eaten that night. The air between herself and her boyfriend Sam had been so electric that she feared she may have pounced upon him in front of all the rich and famous clientele that The Galvin was hosting that night. She had planned out several hundred ways on how to take The Blazer, Tie and Armani dress shirt from his body, and the anticipation of finally getting to put one into practice was making Sophie’s stomach tingle with excitement.
Sophie wrapped her slender arm around Sam’s back and felt the content of feeling it between the silk of his shirt and his deep, black blazer.
“…and that’s why the original Scarface is better than the Al Pacino one.” Sam said in a tone of finality, before looking to Sophie. She enjoyed the way his face lit up and all of his expressions softened when they looked into each other’s eyes. She enjoyed how much she herself softened.
Sophie began to laugh out loud. To think he could make such a long speech about how one film is better than another.
“I agree with you, Sam.” Sophie’s smile was broadening as she felt Sam run his steady hand through her long black hair.
“I don’t know what kind of Witchcraft or Wizardry you use upon your hair, but I love how it’s a shade of black one second, and then seems to shimmer in different tones depending on how and where the light catches it.” Said Sam, looking visibly awed.
Sophie began to giggle. The sound was a clear, care-free, content sound that came all the way from the bottom of Sophie’s stomach and seemed to echo from every wall along the deserted street they were strolling along. Sam kissed the top of her head, and only then did Sophie stop him.
Their eyes met again, but Sophie had stopped giggling and smiling. The look upon her face spoke volumes. She wanted to be taken.
Sophie moved her body into Sam’s and ran her slightly trembling hands upwards along the back of his blazer until she had her arms resting upon his shoulders. She was conscious of everything, including the heat from Sam’s neck upon the sides of her arms, Sam’s own steady hands cradling her at the waist, and how Sophie was actually tall enough to kiss her boyfriend when she was wearing these shoes. Sam was tall enough that she still had to look up in order to look him in the eyes, and she revelled in the slight sense of vulnerability she felt from exposing her neck, which quickly faded when Sam ran one of his index finger along Sophie’s DG necklace.
“I feel so alive and charged when I’m with you, Sam. Almost like I can feel every inch of my body, inside and out, and my heart being in unison with…” Sophie stopped and blushed a little, just as Sam said: “With mine.”
Sophie was ready for him, and she felt the reciprocation within the way Sam gripped Sophie’s waste a little more urgently and tightly.
It was in this moment when they would have kissed. Finally. But Sophie spotted someone across the street. She and Sam were all but stood outside The Dorset now, and the only person other than the mysterious figure Sophie was looking at was the Doorman, who was discrete enough to not look at their would-be tender moment.
Sam turned around and led Sophie by the hand across the street to see who this person was. He was laying in the mouth of a dingy alleyway and looked in need of help, and Sam was always willing to offer that wherever and whenever he could.
The figure belonged to a man around the same age as the two of them. He was incredibly dirty, with his shoulder-length hair greased and matted, dirt and stubble further ruining a face that was lined with care, worry and anxiety. The man smelt faintly of cider and rolling tobacco. Sophie noted that, despite his age, he was dressed in tracksuit bottoms, a branded sportswear t-shirt and an Adidas jacket with one stripe partly missing down the left sleeve. There wasn’t a garment covering him that wasn’t ripped, faded, tatted or stained. Sophie could not even tell if the man’s shoes were trainers or not, but elected that they were, given the rest of the man’s chosen attire.
“Are you ok?” asked Sam.
The man looked up and his lip trembled. He beheld the couple in front of him in all of their majestic beauty, whilst already being surprised that anyone had spoken to him. He did not answer.
“Look up at us again.” Ordered Sophie.
The man looked up and his eyes widened in horror. Sophie’s face, already glowing still from the intimate moment she had just nearly shared with Sam, broke into a smirk. She knew this man. It had been 7 years since she had last seen him, and had not thought about him once.
“Are you homeless?” Sam asked. Sophie’s knees weakened at the sound of concern in Sam’s voice.
“Y-yeah. I haven’t eaten or drank a drop of anything in days. I thought if I hung around somewhere where there are rich people, I might be able to scrape enough together for-for….well, anything.” The man’s voice shook with every syllable, as if he was fighting back an absolute waterfall that yearned to erupt from his downcast eyes.
“Well, I can help you out, my friend.” Sam did his best to veil the disgust in his voice, but Sophie heard it. He held out a brand-new and crisp £20 note between his middle and index finger and the man heaved himself from the floor, with surprising difficulty, to reach out for it. Sam wore a plain golden ring around his middle finger, and Sophie could see its brightness reflected in the man’s eyes. The effect was enhanced by the thin film of moisture upon them and Sophie wondered how much he would cry when they left him.
The man took the £20 and took another look at Sophie. She laughed out loud at the obvious pain and anguish that flashed across his face. If Sam noticed anything, he gave no indication, and why would he?
Sophie found herself quickly being led by the hand again. She and Sam made their way back across the street, into the hotel and made for their room. Sophie did not stop giggling between leaving the old man’s alleyway and their hotel room, only when the hotel room door closed behind them both did she stop. She found her mouth upon Sam’s.
Sophie awoke at 2am, surprisingly alert and energised considering the physical demands of what Sam had done with her body. She stole to the window and looked out. Their room looked out across the front of the hotel, and Sophie spied the figure of one of her former conquests still sat in the mouth of his dingy alleyway. Her sense of mischief sparked.
She showered, re-straightened her hair, touched-up her make-up and admired her figure momentarily before re-adorning herself in her Victoria’s Secret lingerie and her black dress and black stiletto shoes. Sophie looked as breath-taking as she did a couple of hours ago, before she was ravaged by Sam, and perhaps even better now. She moved so easily she felt like she was almost floating. Weightless. The sense of wickedness about her that was projected by the way her walk had become more of a strut, and the way her full, red lips were shaped into the hint of a smirk.
Sophie’s dress was black with two narrow shoulder straps, a corset inlaid with a gold Celtic pattern and a wet-look skirt which flared out and came to just above the middle of her thigh. Although the dress bared nothing but her tanned and shapely legs and her narrow shoulders, the shape of Sophie’s breast was conveyed behind the tightness of the corset, and her cleavage was tantalisingly visible through a translucent material that descended from her collar bone in a V-shape. Sophie was a fan of black. Her long hair fell, sometimes in curls, to just above her lower back and she started to agree with what Sam said about it as she glanced at herself in a passing mirror. She smiled to herself.
As she crossed the foyer and out of the door, she became aware of the Doorman’s eyes following her and she giggled a little. He was allowed a long-look, as Sophie progressed slowly whilst wearing her Black Jimmy Choo stilettos. Sam had bought her these shoes for her last birthday months ago, but she had wanted this little holiday to be the first time she wore them. They were open-toe with a strap that fastened around above her ankle, the sides and in-step decorated with a similar gold Celtic pattern as her dress, and complete with real diamonds wherever there would’ve an excess patch of black leather.
Slender and athletic-looking, graceful and elegant while she moved, Sophie’s figure was always eyed greedily by men and enviously by women. She chose to decorate her eyes with dark shadow applied in a smoke effect that she tutored other women to do via her thriving online blog. It made her eyes almost magnetic, and her sensational figure was almost forgotten whenever anyone looked into them, big, bright, innocent and doe-like. For lipstick she chose red, although people rarely noticed anything about her mouth but her sincere, perfect white smile that she wore so easily and effortlessly. Being as style-savvy as she was, she had a thin red handbag in her small hands, nails varnished differing shades of red.
Making a mental note to herself that she could post another nail-art tutorial, she crossed the street and soon found herself stood over the pathetic, dishevelled figure on the ground.
“How many years has it been?” she said, laughing.
The man did not reply.
“Don’t you dare ignore me.” Sophie said, although she was still laughing. It wasn’t exactly for jest or heart’s ease. Her laugh was laced with a mocking tone. She did not believe that she was being ignored, but rather that the man was unable to think of anything to say for himself.
“I love London. Sam and I have been here for 5 days. You, however, look like you’ve been laying in this alleyway for 5 years.” Said Sophie.
The man slowly looked up, and Sophie enjoyed the way he eyed her, the same way a minimum wage employee would admire the cars in a Rolls-Royce showroom. She was stood with a shoulder-width stance, her centre of gravity poised over her sky-scraper high heels. Sophie lowered her red handbag and held it against her side, the fingers of her other hand splayed out and around her hip. She tossed her hair and the man’s eyes followed it, his mouth was gaping.
“You remember how I was training to become a teacher? Well, I am now! I love it, to be honest, ?NAME?. I never knew why I wanted to do it, but I certainly know now why I want to keep doing it. The look on a young child’s face when they finally comprehend, when they’ve just learned something new, it makes me feel so alive. The look of adoration when I’ve just eased their own self-doubt and restored their self-esteem after they’ve had a bad lesson…it makes me so glad I chose to become a teacher.”
“H-how does a teacher afford-?” asked the man.
“Excuse me?” Sophie said, fighting back a laugh. She was, in fact, itching to tell him, but he didn’t need to know that.
“You’re staying in the most expensive hotel in London. Celebrities stay here. Not to mention you look like you’ve just sauntered out of a Milan or Paris clothing boutique.” The Man’s voice seemed to gain authority and confidence as he finished his sentence.
Sophie giggled.
Switching her handbag to her weaker hand, she crouched down and slapped the man hard in the face. The man was too shocked to even react, and she evened things out by back-handing his opposite cheek. She remembered this superficial charm from years ago, his vacant soul was capable of words that sounded as though they meant something to him, but they weren’t. All this pathetic man was capable of was feeling pain.
Sure enough, his eyes widened again in horror and his lip began to tremble.
“Mmmmmmm”. Sophie relished his reaction and slapped him once more. This time her palm made a sickening noise when it collided with his left cheek, and the unlikely power her slender arms had mustered felled him sideways so that his face rested in the dirt of the concrete floor.
Sophie stood upright and edged a little closer. Her shoes were a mere yard away from the man’s face. She could see the struggle as he tried his hardest fight back the tears. Perhaps it was more painful for him to hold it in. Perhaps that’s why he was able to.
“If you must know, Sam is working for JP Morgan Chase, and on the side he has made countless investments. Every business he has touched may as well have started manufacturing gold dust. We have more money than God, although I often wonder if my boyfriend and God are the same person. On top of that, I have a thriving website through which I sell a premium life-style coaching DVD course for women. Shall I put you down for a copy?” Sophie’s laugh was thunderous as she surveyed the man at her feet. The man trembled as if labouring through a blizzard, so she doubted the warmth she felt flowing through her own body was infectious.
The man started to wonder if all the feminine power in the world had been concentrated and had been carved into the likeness of the beautiful lady that stood at care-free ease in front and over him. All the swagger of the Spice Girls and the charm of Marylin Manroe, Sophie surpassed it all.
“You are quite the little writer aren’t you, boy?” Sophie’s compliment was mocking, her laugh was mocking. The man looked up to her face in shock and annoyance. He realised he must’ve been thinking aloud without even realising.
“I’m going to pen a novel that is more lustful or emotional than anything you’ve ever read, Sophie. It will surpass Beautiful Disaster and Fifty Shades of ****ing Grey. It-“ the man stopped dead.
What was the point? He could not make an impression on this girl. He felt destroyed whenever he thought of her, and when she was stood over him looking and talking like this he felt completely under her control. As if her every word, action and desire acted as strings that latched to his every joint, nerve and muscle.
She was laughing again.
“You are mine. Yes. But I’m not yours.” Said Sophie, glancing towards the hotel. She reminisced of days in the primary school playground about the way children would taunt each other during tigs.
The man did not respond, and his trembling became so terrible that he could almost be mistaken for someone mid-seizure.
“Here is what you’re going to do. You will write that novel. I have, trembling under my Jimmy Choo’s, a boy who will be a published writer someday. The novel will be a best-seller, I have no doubt, and you will be a millionaire when the fruits of all of your labour, toil, pain and suffering are verbalised and used to tease the souls of all those vanilla people you think you are superior to.”
Sophie was almost ready for it. She had elected not to wear her panties for this, and she could feel the early morning breeze teasing her soaking vagina. She opened her handbag and took out a pair of Black Lace V-Cut that were still soaking thanks to Sam’s teasing and tantalising. She also smirked as her eyes roved over the tear in the French lace.
“Sit up”. Sophie ordered. Her eyes were shining bright with emotion and searched every inch of the man now sat before her, and seemed to sting him like the lash of a whip. Her smile came with an innocent and yet wicked laugh that seemed to burn even more.
“Do you know which animal this is?” Sophie ran her finger along the animal print pattern that was soaking, just as Sam’s had done hours ago.
In a last, desperate attempt to flatter, the man stuttered and forced a smile. “Aa—alpha female?”
Sophie didn’t want to ruin the moment by laughing. She shoved the panties over the man’s head, the scent of her sex on the v-cut pressed against his nose.
“A cheetah.” Sophie laughed. Revenge was best served hot, after all.
The man finally give in. He fell to the floor again, but could not remove the panties from his face. They were worth more than anything he was wearing combined, yet she doubted they were for sale. He sobbed as though all the cares and heartbreak in the world flowed within the river of his soul, and had been dammed for years with the bricks of his ego and self-loathing.
“As I was saying. When you’re a millionaire, and the proceeds of your novel have your bank account bursting at the seams, do you know what you’re going to do with that money?”
He could only sob.
“You are going to hand it all over to me and Sam. Your emotions belong to me. Your soul belongs to me. And I belong to Sam.” Sophie smiled and moved to stand with one Jimmy Choo upon the man’s soaking wet face.
“I will draw out the cash I’ve taken from you, I’m going to revel in the excess by having the bank notes strewn on top of mine and Sam’s bed quilt, and I’m going to beg Sam to ravage me. My flawless, naked body will be laying in thousands of pounds worth of the Queen’s Head, and My King’s Head is going to fill me up, and he’s going to make me quiver, make me weak, he will make me exhale and scream in pleasure, he will do things to my body and my soul that you CANNOT compete with.” Sophie felt like she was approaching orgasm just thinking about it. Her tone of voice was as smooth and seamless as the man’s panties. His sobs became uncontrollable and Sophie felt like she had well and truly left her mark upon him.
“Your name is now: Sophie’s Bitch.” Sophie purred, as if she was rewarding a well-behaved child with candy. She removed her foot from his face.
The man looked up and Sophie’s vagina tingled at the sight all of his conflicting emotions, and her Jimmy Choo-print upon his face. The dam within his soul had re-emerged almost as quick as she had destroyed it. She was now well and truly in control.
“What’s your name”? Sophie asked, tantalisingly.
“Sophie’s Bitch. My name is…Sophie’s Bitch.” The man lowered his face to Sophie’s right shoe and kissed the golden Celtic pattern upon the in-step. The gesture only earned him a stomp and a bleeding scar delivered by her stiletto heel.
“Good. Now….go and write.” Sophie turned gracefully, flipping her hair over her shoulder and strode back across the street. Some girls move gingerly and poorly in high heels, almost as though they may fall at any second, but Sophie only seemed to move a thousand times more easily and gracefully. The man heard the clicking of both her 5 inch stilettos hit the concrete as though his ear was pressed against it, wondering if every male on the planet was ironically being awoken in these very moments by the delicate feet of this rich, dark-haired Goddess.
When she was out of sight, he grabbed his pen and his mind urged the ink to flow.
It was approaching 10pm when Sophie and Sam were walking back to The Dorset hotel. They had just eaten at The Galvin Restaurant, and they elected to walk at an easy pace so as if to delay the end of their romantic excursion for as long as they could. Sam was also aware of how Sophie’s 5 inch stiletto heels might demand a slower pace at this point in the evening.
During their dinner, Sophie was consumed by the same satisfaction that she always felt nowadays. Not only because she had just been catered to by one of the finest Chef’s in the world, or because she had just sampled the finest cuisine beautifully prepared and presented, or because she was engaged in listening to her wonderful boyfriend speaking, but because she was always aware of how her life had changed since her good, but humble beginnings.
Although the food tasted beautiful, Sophie could barely remember much about what she had eaten that night. The air between herself and her boyfriend Sam had been so electric that she feared she may have pounced upon him in front of all the rich and famous clientele that The Galvin was hosting that night. She had planned out several hundred ways on how to take The Blazer, Tie and Armani dress shirt from his body, and the anticipation of finally getting to put one into practice was making Sophie’s stomach tingle with excitement.
Sophie wrapped her slender arm around Sam’s back and felt the content of feeling it between the silk of his shirt and his deep, black blazer.
“…and that’s why the original Scarface is better than the Al Pacino one.” Sam said in a tone of finality, before looking to Sophie. She enjoyed the way his face lit up and all of his expressions softened when they looked into each other’s eyes. She enjoyed how much she herself softened.
Sophie began to laugh out loud. To think he could make such a long speech about how one film is better than another.
“I agree with you, Sam.” Sophie’s smile was broadening as she felt Sam run his steady hand through her long black hair.
“I don’t know what kind of Witchcraft or Wizardry you use upon your hair, but I love how it’s a shade of black one second, and then seems to shimmer in different tones depending on how and where the light catches it.” Said Sam, looking visibly awed.
Sophie began to giggle. The sound was a clear, care-free, content sound that came all the way from the bottom of Sophie’s stomach and seemed to echo from every wall along the deserted street they were strolling along. Sam kissed the top of her head, and only then did Sophie stop him.
Their eyes met again, but Sophie had stopped giggling and smiling. The look upon her face spoke volumes. She wanted to be taken.
Sophie moved her body into Sam’s and ran her slightly trembling hands upwards along the back of his blazer until she had her arms resting upon his shoulders. She was conscious of everything, including the heat from Sam’s neck upon the sides of her arms, Sam’s own steady hands cradling her at the waist, and how Sophie was actually tall enough to kiss her boyfriend when she was wearing these shoes. Sam was tall enough that she still had to look up in order to look him in the eyes, and she revelled in the slight sense of vulnerability she felt from exposing her neck, which quickly faded when Sam ran one of his index finger along Sophie’s DG necklace.
“I feel so alive and charged when I’m with you, Sam. Almost like I can feel every inch of my body, inside and out, and my heart being in unison with…” Sophie stopped and blushed a little, just as Sam said: “With mine.”
Sophie was ready for him, and she felt the reciprocation within the way Sam gripped Sophie’s waste a little more urgently and tightly.
It was in this moment when they would have kissed. Finally. But Sophie spotted someone across the street. She and Sam were all but stood outside The Dorset now, and the only person other than the mysterious figure Sophie was looking at was the Doorman, who was discrete enough to not look at their would-be tender moment.
Sam turned around and led Sophie by the hand across the street to see who this person was. He was laying in the mouth of a dingy alleyway and looked in need of help, and Sam was always willing to offer that wherever and whenever he could.
The figure belonged to a man around the same age as the two of them. He was incredibly dirty, with his shoulder-length hair greased and matted, dirt and stubble further ruining a face that was lined with care, worry and anxiety. The man smelt faintly of cider and rolling tobacco. Sophie noted that, despite his age, he was dressed in tracksuit bottoms, a branded sportswear t-shirt and an Adidas jacket with one stripe partly missing down the left sleeve. There wasn’t a garment covering him that wasn’t ripped, faded, tatted or stained. Sophie could not even tell if the man’s shoes were trainers or not, but elected that they were, given the rest of the man’s chosen attire.
“Are you ok?” asked Sam.
The man looked up and his lip trembled. He beheld the couple in front of him in all of their majestic beauty, whilst already being surprised that anyone had spoken to him. He did not answer.
“Look up at us again.” Ordered Sophie.
The man looked up and his eyes widened in horror. Sophie’s face, already glowing still from the intimate moment she had just nearly shared with Sam, broke into a smirk. She knew this man. It had been 7 years since she had last seen him, and had not thought about him once.
“Are you homeless?” Sam asked. Sophie’s knees weakened at the sound of concern in Sam’s voice.
“Y-yeah. I haven’t eaten or drank a drop of anything in days. I thought if I hung around somewhere where there are rich people, I might be able to scrape enough together for-for….well, anything.” The man’s voice shook with every syllable, as if he was fighting back an absolute waterfall that yearned to erupt from his downcast eyes.
“Well, I can help you out, my friend.” Sam did his best to veil the disgust in his voice, but Sophie heard it. He held out a brand-new and crisp £20 note between his middle and index finger and the man heaved himself from the floor, with surprising difficulty, to reach out for it. Sam wore a plain golden ring around his middle finger, and Sophie could see its brightness reflected in the man’s eyes. The effect was enhanced by the thin film of moisture upon them and Sophie wondered how much he would cry when they left him.
The man took the £20 and took another look at Sophie. She laughed out loud at the obvious pain and anguish that flashed across his face. If Sam noticed anything, he gave no indication, and why would he?
Sophie found herself quickly being led by the hand again. She and Sam made their way back across the street, into the hotel and made for their room. Sophie did not stop giggling between leaving the old man’s alleyway and their hotel room, only when the hotel room door closed behind them both did she stop. She found her mouth upon Sam’s.
Sophie awoke at 2am, surprisingly alert and energised considering the physical demands of what Sam had done with her body. She stole to the window and looked out. Their room looked out across the front of the hotel, and Sophie spied the figure of one of her former conquests still sat in the mouth of his dingy alleyway. Her sense of mischief sparked.
She showered, re-straightened her hair, touched-up her make-up and admired her figure momentarily before re-adorning herself in her Victoria’s Secret lingerie and her black dress and black stiletto shoes. Sophie looked as breath-taking as she did a couple of hours ago, before she was ravaged by Sam, and perhaps even better now. She moved so easily she felt like she was almost floating. Weightless. The sense of wickedness about her that was projected by the way her walk had become more of a strut, and the way her full, red lips were shaped into the hint of a smirk.
Sophie’s dress was black with two narrow shoulder straps, a corset inlaid with a gold Celtic pattern and a wet-look skirt which flared out and came to just above the middle of her thigh. Although the dress bared nothing but her tanned and shapely legs and her narrow shoulders, the shape of Sophie’s breast was conveyed behind the tightness of the corset, and her cleavage was tantalisingly visible through a translucent material that descended from her collar bone in a V-shape. Sophie was a fan of black. Her long hair fell, sometimes in curls, to just above her lower back and she started to agree with what Sam said about it as she glanced at herself in a passing mirror. She smiled to herself.
As she crossed the foyer and out of the door, she became aware of the Doorman’s eyes following her and she giggled a little. He was allowed a long-look, as Sophie progressed slowly whilst wearing her Black Jimmy Choo stilettos. Sam had bought her these shoes for her last birthday months ago, but she had wanted this little holiday to be the first time she wore them. They were open-toe with a strap that fastened around above her ankle, the sides and in-step decorated with a similar gold Celtic pattern as her dress, and complete with real diamonds wherever there would’ve an excess patch of black leather.
Slender and athletic-looking, graceful and elegant while she moved, Sophie’s figure was always eyed greedily by men and enviously by women. She chose to decorate her eyes with dark shadow applied in a smoke effect that she tutored other women to do via her thriving online blog. It made her eyes almost magnetic, and her sensational figure was almost forgotten whenever anyone looked into them, big, bright, innocent and doe-like. For lipstick she chose red, although people rarely noticed anything about her mouth but her sincere, perfect white smile that she wore so easily and effortlessly. Being as style-savvy as she was, she had a thin red handbag in her small hands, nails varnished differing shades of red.
Making a mental note to herself that she could post another nail-art tutorial, she crossed the street and soon found herself stood over the pathetic, dishevelled figure on the ground.
“How many years has it been?” she said, laughing.
The man did not reply.
“Don’t you dare ignore me.” Sophie said, although she was still laughing. It wasn’t exactly for jest or heart’s ease. Her laugh was laced with a mocking tone. She did not believe that she was being ignored, but rather that the man was unable to think of anything to say for himself.
“I love London. Sam and I have been here for 5 days. You, however, look like you’ve been laying in this alleyway for 5 years.” Said Sophie.
The man slowly looked up, and Sophie enjoyed the way he eyed her, the same way a minimum wage employee would admire the cars in a Rolls-Royce showroom. She was stood with a shoulder-width stance, her centre of gravity poised over her sky-scraper high heels. Sophie lowered her red handbag and held it against her side, the fingers of her other hand splayed out and around her hip. She tossed her hair and the man’s eyes followed it, his mouth was gaping.
“You remember how I was training to become a teacher? Well, I am now! I love it, to be honest, ?NAME?. I never knew why I wanted to do it, but I certainly know now why I want to keep doing it. The look on a young child’s face when they finally comprehend, when they’ve just learned something new, it makes me feel so alive. The look of adoration when I’ve just eased their own self-doubt and restored their self-esteem after they’ve had a bad lesson…it makes me so glad I chose to become a teacher.”
“H-how does a teacher afford-?” asked the man.
“Excuse me?” Sophie said, fighting back a laugh. She was, in fact, itching to tell him, but he didn’t need to know that.
“You’re staying in the most expensive hotel in London. Celebrities stay here. Not to mention you look like you’ve just sauntered out of a Milan or Paris clothing boutique.” The Man’s voice seemed to gain authority and confidence as he finished his sentence.
Sophie giggled.
Switching her handbag to her weaker hand, she crouched down and slapped the man hard in the face. The man was too shocked to even react, and she evened things out by back-handing his opposite cheek. She remembered this superficial charm from years ago, his vacant soul was capable of words that sounded as though they meant something to him, but they weren’t. All this pathetic man was capable of was feeling pain.
Sure enough, his eyes widened again in horror and his lip began to tremble.
“Mmmmmmm”. Sophie relished his reaction and slapped him once more. This time her palm made a sickening noise when it collided with his left cheek, and the unlikely power her slender arms had mustered felled him sideways so that his face rested in the dirt of the concrete floor.
Sophie stood upright and edged a little closer. Her shoes were a mere yard away from the man’s face. She could see the struggle as he tried his hardest fight back the tears. Perhaps it was more painful for him to hold it in. Perhaps that’s why he was able to.
“If you must know, Sam is working for JP Morgan Chase, and on the side he has made countless investments. Every business he has touched may as well have started manufacturing gold dust. We have more money than God, although I often wonder if my boyfriend and God are the same person. On top of that, I have a thriving website through which I sell a premium life-style coaching DVD course for women. Shall I put you down for a copy?” Sophie’s laugh was thunderous as she surveyed the man at her feet. The man trembled as if labouring through a blizzard, so she doubted the warmth she felt flowing through her own body was infectious.
The man started to wonder if all the feminine power in the world had been concentrated and had been carved into the likeness of the beautiful lady that stood at care-free ease in front and over him. All the swagger of the Spice Girls and the charm of Marylin Manroe, Sophie surpassed it all.
“You are quite the little writer aren’t you, boy?” Sophie’s compliment was mocking, her laugh was mocking. The man looked up to her face in shock and annoyance. He realised he must’ve been thinking aloud without even realising.
“I’m going to pen a novel that is more lustful or emotional than anything you’ve ever read, Sophie. It will surpass Beautiful Disaster and Fifty Shades of ****ing Grey. It-“ the man stopped dead.
What was the point? He could not make an impression on this girl. He felt destroyed whenever he thought of her, and when she was stood over him looking and talking like this he felt completely under her control. As if her every word, action and desire acted as strings that latched to his every joint, nerve and muscle.
She was laughing again.
“You are mine. Yes. But I’m not yours.” Said Sophie, glancing towards the hotel. She reminisced of days in the primary school playground about the way children would taunt each other during tigs.
The man did not respond, and his trembling became so terrible that he could almost be mistaken for someone mid-seizure.
“Here is what you’re going to do. You will write that novel. I have, trembling under my Jimmy Choo’s, a boy who will be a published writer someday. The novel will be a best-seller, I have no doubt, and you will be a millionaire when the fruits of all of your labour, toil, pain and suffering are verbalised and used to tease the souls of all those vanilla people you think you are superior to.”
Sophie was almost ready for it. She had elected not to wear her panties for this, and she could feel the early morning breeze teasing her soaking vagina. She opened her handbag and took out a pair of Black Lace V-Cut that were still soaking thanks to Sam’s teasing and tantalising. She also smirked as her eyes roved over the tear in the French lace.
“Sit up”. Sophie ordered. Her eyes were shining bright with emotion and searched every inch of the man now sat before her, and seemed to sting him like the lash of a whip. Her smile came with an innocent and yet wicked laugh that seemed to burn even more.
“Do you know which animal this is?” Sophie ran her finger along the animal print pattern that was soaking, just as Sam’s had done hours ago.
In a last, desperate attempt to flatter, the man stuttered and forced a smile. “Aa—alpha female?”
Sophie didn’t want to ruin the moment by laughing. She shoved the panties over the man’s head, the scent of her sex on the v-cut pressed against his nose.
“A cheetah.” Sophie laughed. Revenge was best served hot, after all.
The man finally give in. He fell to the floor again, but could not remove the panties from his face. They were worth more than anything he was wearing combined, yet she doubted they were for sale. He sobbed as though all the cares and heartbreak in the world flowed within the river of his soul, and had been dammed for years with the bricks of his ego and self-loathing.
“As I was saying. When you’re a millionaire, and the proceeds of your novel have your bank account bursting at the seams, do you know what you’re going to do with that money?”
He could only sob.
“You are going to hand it all over to me and Sam. Your emotions belong to me. Your soul belongs to me. And I belong to Sam.” Sophie smiled and moved to stand with one Jimmy Choo upon the man’s soaking wet face.
“I will draw out the cash I’ve taken from you, I’m going to revel in the excess by having the bank notes strewn on top of mine and Sam’s bed quilt, and I’m going to beg Sam to ravage me. My flawless, naked body will be laying in thousands of pounds worth of the Queen’s Head, and My King’s Head is going to fill me up, and he’s going to make me quiver, make me weak, he will make me exhale and scream in pleasure, he will do things to my body and my soul that you CANNOT compete with.” Sophie felt like she was approaching orgasm just thinking about it. Her tone of voice was as smooth and seamless as the man’s panties. His sobs became uncontrollable and Sophie felt like she had well and truly left her mark upon him.
“Your name is now: Sophie’s Bitch.” Sophie purred, as if she was rewarding a well-behaved child with candy. She removed her foot from his face.
The man looked up and Sophie’s vagina tingled at the sight all of his conflicting emotions, and her Jimmy Choo-print upon his face. The dam within his soul had re-emerged almost as quick as she had destroyed it. She was now well and truly in control.
“What’s your name”? Sophie asked, tantalisingly.
“Sophie’s Bitch. My name is…Sophie’s Bitch.” The man lowered his face to Sophie’s right shoe and kissed the golden Celtic pattern upon the in-step. The gesture only earned him a stomp and a bleeding scar delivered by her stiletto heel.
“Good. Now….go and write.” Sophie turned gracefully, flipping her hair over her shoulder and strode back across the street. Some girls move gingerly and poorly in high heels, almost as though they may fall at any second, but Sophie only seemed to move a thousand times more easily and gracefully. The man heard the clicking of both her 5 inch stilettos hit the concrete as though his ear was pressed against it, wondering if every male on the planet was ironically being awoken in these very moments by the delicate feet of this rich, dark-haired Goddess.
When she was out of sight, he grabbed his pen and his mind urged the ink to flow.
Any feedback?
I'm not really looking for feedback on the Domination / Submission theme, but more about the quality of the writing itself.
I'm not really looking for feedback on the Domination / Submission theme, but more about the quality of the writing itself.
Good evening.What I just read was straight solemn. I enjoyed it just as I enjoyed the way you wrote this. Quite erotic, indeed, shoving panties into people's face isn't the best thing to do, trust me. *giggle*Anyway, this was rather interesting to read. Quite adult-like (no wonder why it's erotic), some mind torture and dark humour, what else to ask for ?I congratulate you for this story, 5 years later.
our team of cosmoessay.com writers were impressed. you should be a professioanl writer.
Like E.L. James, you make D.H. Lawrence seem somewhat respectable.
"Sophie’s vagina tingled at the sight all of his conflicting emotions".
10/10 would have a tingly vagina again.
10/10 would have a tingly vagina again.
Original post by cmbyn
my bible study group loved this
10/10 would read again. maybe to the pensioners on sunday
10/10 would read again. maybe to the pensioners on sunday
thanks for the laugh
@It's****ingWOODY @gjd800 @Plantagenet Crown lol does this get you going lads. 3 long 5 me so I cba but what I skimmed over raises a question mark lol and shut up about the time I'm on here, it's lunch hr
Original post by MissBeckyx
This might be the seriously funniest comment I've seen on here and there's not even any words
Original post by Bang Outta Order
Yh I was reading this thread about a week ago when someone bumped it. Too long so I didn’t get to the end but funny nonetheless!
Original post by Plantagenet Crown
Yh I was reading this thread about a week ago when someone bumped it. Too long so I didn’t get to the end but funny nonetheless!
Yh I was reading this thread about a week ago when someone bumped it. Too long so I didn’t get to the end but funny nonetheless!
LOL Crying
I was scanning like, "**** all this rubbish, where's the sex?" Lol
So is it me or did the woman abuse a homeless guy?
(edited 4 years ago)
Original post by Bang Outta Order
LOL Crying
I was scanning like, "**** all this rubbish, where's the sex?" Lol
So is it me or did the woman abuse a homeless guy?
I was scanning like, "**** all this rubbish, where's the sex?" Lol
So is it me or did the woman abuse a homeless guy?
Lmao, same! I was like “she calls this an erotic story and there’s nothing sexual about it!”
Errm....I never got to that part, the hell?! Homeless peeps are always bare dirty and stink of ****, who would want to mess around with one of them..?
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