Hipster Intelligence Agency

You've Probably Never Heard Of Us


(Warning: Adult content!! This is Erotica about a couple in a D/s relationship. If you are offended by such things, refuse to become enlightened, and/or under the age of 18 [sorry, kids], please do not proceed.)

I was 18, he was 24, the first guy I ever really played with.

girl-bicycle1But the age difference wasn’t the worst part. He was married, with a little boy and another on the way. His wife was a hot mess, at least while she was preggers. I’d seen him around town plenty. He was tall and fit. He hunted and fished. He took care of his things and his family. But I’d heard he prowled for ass on the side.

I was riding my bike, one afternoon, coming home from cheer practice, because my step-dad took my car away after my 3rd speeding ticket. I saw him washing his truck. He was shirtless, so I stopped to watch him a bit, he looked hot. I knew I looked irresistible in my little white shorts, but I was wearing an oversized t-shirt, so I pulled it up, twisted the extra fabric into a knot in the back, and used my hair band to make it extra tight. I tossed my head upside down, to shake out the waves and re-applied my favorite strawberry lip gloss.

I was young, but not dumb. I had to have a reason to ask for his help, so I popped the stem on my bike tire and watched it deflate. As I walked across the street, bike in tow, I caught his eye, and he looked at me like I was ice cream. I wasn’t sure if he even realized he was doing it, but he licked his lip and flexed his chest, and I thought this was going to be easy.

“Hey, mister. Can you help me?”

I believed I had him tricked. Overconfident and invincible, I was sure I’d have him eating out of my hand in no time.

Since I had tossed the whole stem, there was no fixing it, the tire would need to be replaced, so I asked him if he’d be willing to take me home. I told him I’d help him wash his truck if he would.

He basically watched me finish it, and I made sure to get nice and wet as I rinsed it off. He was hard when he tossed my bike in the back, and I was so turned on from prancing around for him. I was naive enough to think he’d be easy to convince.

As we got going, he says, “Where to, Dancer?”

“How’d you know I was a dancer?”

“Lucky guess. You’ve been shaking your ass for me since you crossed the street.”

I was intrigued, I guess men pay attention better than boys.

“I see you enjoyed the show,” I whispered, unbuckling my seatbelt and sliding over so I could rub his bulging crotch.

“You think you know what you’re getting into, little girl, but I’m not sure you do. How old are you?”

“Eighteen… And a half.” It was silly to bring up the half, but he had quickly cut my confidence a bit.

“And you wanna play with a married man? You don’t even know me. …I could do terrible things to you.”

“Maybe I want you to….” I whispered, my courage started to fade, but I was unwilling to back down completely.

He pulled the truck to the side of the road, and popped it in park. He stared at me for several minutes, but I didn’t get scared, as I think he wondered if I would. I was nervous. I bit my lip. He grabbed my chin to make me release it, but didn’t touch me otherwise.

“Well, mister, if you’re not going to fuck me, then you may-as-well take me home.” I slid back over, buckling my belt and pouting.
He chuckled, and started the engine, “Learn some respect, little one, then maybe I’d be interested.”

As he drove along, his statement swirled around my head. How did I disrespect him? What did he mean by that. When he pulled into my driveway, I looked at him. “Respect? What kind of respect?” I asked, my arms folded across my chest.

He smiled, unbuckled his seatbelt and leaned toward me. I flinched a little, but let him unfold my arms and set my hands in my lap. “First of all, that cocky little-miss-know-it-all attitude is incredibly disrespectful. I got six years on you, young lady. You should never pretend to know more or better than me.”

He turned further in his seat and touched my arm. “And tricking people is disrespectful. It was obvious as sin that you ripped the stem off that tire.” He reached down beside me, and released my seatbelt, before mumbling, “Silly girl.”

I had turned away, feeling a little like a scolded child, but staying in the truck, for some strange reason. So he grabbed my chin, forcing me to turn my head to look at him. “I didn’t hear a single please, or thank you. You called me mister twice. Does that seem respectful?”

I tried to shake my head, but he held my chin tight, forcing me to speak, “No.”

“No what? How should you address your elders? Or didn’t your parents teach you ANY manners.”

“No, Sir…..” I practically whimpered. I felt tears start to prick the back of my eyes, my body reacting exactly as I did when I was scolded, as a child.

“Good girl. Now, do you have a tire up in that garage?”

“No, Sir,” i grinned, thinking he may be offering to fix the bike for me.

shirtless-guy-with-truckHe stared at me again, for several minutes. Debating something eternally. I started to say something several times, but he held his finger to his lips, motioning for me to be quiet. I felt strange and excited at the idea of spending more time with him, but wondered if it would actually go anywhere.

“Got any money, little one?”

“Yeah- Yes, Sir. I gotta bank card.”

He grunted, “You spoiled?”

I smiled, “Maybe… A little.”

He reached over my shoulder, his lips inches from mine, and then buckled me back in, but didn’t pull away.

“Do you think you could be respectful, the rest of the day?”

“Yes, Sir,” I whispered, staring into his purplish blue eyes. “I can learn…”

He growled, deep in his throat, a sound that I later learned to associate with appreciation. “If not, I’m gonna make your ass pay for it, you understand?”
I didn’t.

“If I take you with me, fix your bike, maybe play a bit, and you give me even a little lip, I’m going to spank your ass. It’ll hurt. …Teach you respect.” He leaned back letting his words sink in. “You still wanna come with me, little girl?”

The idea of him spanking me was both cringe-worthy and appealing at the same time. My pussy was wet thinking about it, but the idea was so humiliating. My Daddy spanked me when I was small, but I hadn’t been in 13 years. How could the idea of being spanked be sexually exciting? I swallowed, unsure of whether I should stay or go. So I sat there, staring at him.

He grabbed my chin again, “That’s precious, baby. You think you might like being spanked? Hmmmm,” he rumbled again, I could almost feel the vibration between my thighs. “You’re an intriguing little thing….”

“How…. How did you know I was thinking that?” I asked, staring down at my hands, feeling even more confused.

“Because you’re still here.” He smiled, buckling his seatbelt again, and as I looked down, I saw that he was aroused. “So, I’m takin you with me then, Dancer.” He chuckled, catching my stare.

I wasn’t sure if it was a question or not. I looked back up at his indigo gaze, and my heart started racing as I breathed, “Uh-huh….”

“Gotta use real words, young lady.”

And the glint in his eye made me whisper, “Yes, Sir,” as a smile played across my lips.

If I had known that moment how this guy would affect me over the next few months, I probably would’ve leapt from that truck and ran as fast as I could.

But I’m glad I didn’t. Because he taught me to submit. And that skill has shaped my entire life.

Marcy PlaygroundSex & Candy


About Mel Douleur

In my late thirties, as a wife, a mother, an administrative manager… As a woman in emotional flux, I spread my fingers across a keyboard one day to defeat the boredom inside my mind. I found that truth was actually quite interesting. I found that the imaginary was even more interesting. I found that I could write. And, Mel Douleur was born.

7 comments on “Dancer

  1. Hipster Racist
    November 17, 2013

    Reblogged this on Hipster Racist.

  2. mel
    November 17, 2013

    Reblogged this on Pushing our limits and commented:
    Check out my latest story for the HIA. It’s different, but I’m hey, pushing my limits is what I’m about!!

  3. dievca
    November 17, 2013

    Great story and great song, throws me firmly back into the 90’s.

  4. cognitiveberserker
    December 26, 2013

    Wicked story.

    • mel
      December 27, 2013

      Glad you enjoyed it, did you check out Part 2?

  5. Pingback: Dancer | Pushing our limits

  6. Pingback: Heartbreakers VIII | Hipster Intelligence Agency


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