Hipster Intelligence Agency

You've Probably Never Heard Of Us

Dancer – Part 2

(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.)


The drive to the hardware store was quiet. He didn’t look at me at all. I tried to cut the silence with small talk.

“So, my name is really Natalie. I am a dancer though, since I was 8.” My voice sounded so small, I almost felt 8 again.

“Yeah, I know your dad. You already know my name.”

“Jason…” I whispered, “But you’d rather I call you Sir?”

He glanced at me finally, his eyebrows drawn together, “You can call me Jason… for now.”

But I couldn’t.

We pulled into the employee parking lot behind the store that his family had owned for decades. I knew there was a shop in back, but I was surprised at it’s size. I was staring into the upper windows of the small building, and realized there was a kitchen on the second floor. I reached to release my seatbelt when I felt his hand already on the latch. I turned slowly and sucked in a quick breath at the look in his eyes.

“Don’t be afraid, dancer. This is what you wanted…” His voice was even deeper than before, and as he unclasped the belt, the back of his hand brushed over my body.

“I’m not scared,” I breathed, sounding like a liar.

He reached for the door handle, his face less than an inch from mine. I was shaking, which I think he noticed, because he pulled back slightly and lifted his hand to my hair. His eyebrows drew together again, I thought he must be arguing with himself. As he backed away, I realized that despite my anxiety about what he could do to me, I was disappointed. He still had barely touched me.

“Go get your tire. I’ll start working on your bike in the shop.” His gruff voice again made me feel like a scolded child.

“Yes, Sir,” I sighed, as I swung down from the seat.

When I stepped in the back door of the store, I was struck by how clean and organized everything was. I hadn’t been there since I was small, and even though nothing had really changed, the store felt completely different. I knew Jason had taken over managing the business when his father was receiving cancer treatment 7 years earlier. It was a big deal in a small town, a 17 year old stepping up into an adult role. But he had a reputation for being a hard ass, a control freak, and a great salesman. At 18, he’d expanded the store to carry tool rental and at 20, he’d bought the shop behind the store, to repair equipment.

As I roamed the length of the narrow building, I caught the eye of Peggy, who had worked at the store forever, but I knew her through a classmate, her nephew who she had raised for the last 12 years.

“Well, howdy, Miss Natalie! What brings you in today?” She smiled, warmly. Her husky smoker’s voice matched up perfectly with her short, spiky hair and Carhartt coveralls.

“I need a new bike tire. Jason’s gonna help me put it on.” I thought it couldn’t hurt to let her know who I was with. But then, she’d probably cover for him if he did something terrible. I knew they were pretty close.

She cocked her head up and gave me a creepy grin, “Well, let’s see what we got.”

I had no idea the options available for tires, but she helped me choose a basic one that would fit my 10-speed. As I paid for it, her smirk made me even more nervous, and I contemplated walking out the front door, and running home. But my curiosity and lust overrode my fear. As I said goodbye, she smiled warmly at me again, making me think it had all been in my head.

When I made my way out the back door, the garage door was open and my bike was propped upside down on a sawhorse. Jason was working on removing the wheel.

Stepping inside, I was surprised at the contents of the garage. Of course it was neat and orderly, just as the hardware displays were, but at the back of the large room, there were old-fashioned carpenters tools, along with several handmade pieces of furniture. A large oak dresser, with intricate carvings beneath the drawer pulls. A rocking chair, which was in the midst of being upholstered. A cedar chest, with hinged sweater drawers. I ran my fingers over them and mumbled, “Wow.”

“Is it so surprising that I’m a carpenter, Natalie?” His voice was right behind me, and I felt his hand glide down my arm, leaving chills in it’s wake.

I exhaled deeply, “They’re beautiful… I just… I didn’t know.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t judge people before you know them.”

As he walked away from me, I found myself wishing he’d just get it over with, whatever he might do to me today. I couldn’t guess what might happen, and it was driving me nuts.

“How have I judged you?” I asked, walking around the rest of the garage.

He grunted, “Come on, dancer. Something made you strut your pretty ass in front of me, cause I’m guessin’ you wouldn’t give another married man the time of day.”

“I’m here, though.” I said cockily, “I guess the rumors aren’t factless…” I whispered, running my fingers over a piece of wood which looked like it might end up being a post for something.


“Rumors… I don’t suppose any of those rumors you’re mumbling about include my wife.” The anger in his face made me stop. I had heard something about them splitting up just before she got pregnant. As I walked towards him, he looked up and eyed me warily.

“Yes, Sir… I’ve heard rumors about her too. But I’m guessing by the look on your face…” I stopped, watching his eyes flash.

“Anything recent?” He growled, sweat dripping onto his filthy hands as he worked on the tire.

“Not really,” I said quietly, walking toward him and sliding my hands in my pockets. I suddenly felt like that little girl again, timid and worried I’d said something wrong.

“She’s gone,” he breathed, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand.

I didn’t know what to say. He didn’t look sad but I suddenly felt the need to comfort him. I walked toward him, picking up a clean rag from a neat stack on a shelf. Standing in front of him, the bike between us, I lifted the towel and dabbed his forehead, then his cheek and chest. His eyes focused on my mouth, then my breasts, I knew my nipples could clearly be seen through my thin bra and t-shirt. His lips fell open slightly as his violet gaze moved back up my body.

“Good girl,” he rumbled, and my pussy throbbed. I couldn’t help but imagine him sliding his dirty hands all over me, marking where they had been. “Get me a soda from the kitchen upstairs.” He nodded towards an open door at the far end of the room.

“Yes, Sir,” I practically moaned, before sashaying across the room, feeling his eyes on my ass.

As I made my way up the steps, I was surprised again. The stairs led into a small kitchen with a checkered floor and pretty black cabinets, I opened the doors and peaked at the contents. Simple dishes and glasses, some crackers and cereal, and one cupboard help a dozen liquor bottles. The room opened into a den with a leather sofa and big screen television, mounted on the wall. The decor wasn’t what you might expect from an apartment over a garage. It was quite masculine, but it seemed much more like a home. There were old family pictures, and photos of the hardware through the years, pictures of Jason as a teenager. I smiled as I imagined him creating this space. I looked at every frame, finding him in each one, and realized I had known him when he was much younger. I’d been friends with his neighbor, when I was 5 or 6.

At the far end of the room, there was a set of carved sliding doors. I wondered if Jason had made them as I touched the wood. I pressed my thumb on the little latch, but it didn’t open.

“They’re locked,” his voice vibrated through the room and me. I swung around, embarrassed at my nosiness.
“I’m sorry, I- I didn’t mean to snoop,” I was practically falling over my own words. I tried to zoom past him to get his soda, but he grabbed my arm and backed me into the wall.

His eyes were so dark, they barely held any color, and my whole body trembled. Excitement, nerves, fear… I’m not sure what I was feeling, but as he let go of my arm, I had to force my knees not to buckle beneath me. His lips were right there, I wanted to kiss him, but I couldn’t move. I closed my eyes, waiting for him to do something.

“Are you afraid of me now, dancer?” His voice was softer now. His fingers slid up my arm, to my long, blond waves again. He seem to like to touch my hair. I opened my eyes, shaking my head slightly.

“I don’t know, Sir… Nervous, I guess.” My head felt light, and I seemed to be trembling even worse, despite his change in demeanor.
His eyes flashed again, as he pressed his body against mine, his left hand skimming my other arm now. “Your bike’s fixed,” he exhaled against my lips and it felt like his breath went straight through me, like lightening, to my clit.


My legs melted, but his body pressed me into the wall, one leg between mine, and one hand sliding around my waist. His lips touched mine and that electricity went everywhere. As his tongue slipped into my mouth, I rested my hands on his hips, then lifted them slowly to his broad, bare shoulders, and up into his sandy, spiked hair. I swirled my fingers in rhythm with our tongues. His fingers in my hair shifted to my neck, gripping me tightly, almost painfully, as he tore his mouth from mine.

“Are you staying or going, little girl?” His hand moved from my neck to my throat, and I felt real fear.

“If I stay… Sir… What are going to do?” I sounded just like a frightened child. My body was shaking all over.

He dropped his hands, and I started to slide down the wall, unable to bear my own weight. He grabbed my shoulders, lifting me easily, before scooping me up and sitting me on the sofa. His face was stony as he straightened and stared down at me. He walked into the kitchen and came back with two Coke’s. I tried to smile as he handed it to me, but I could barely hold the can, much less manipulate my facial expression.

He sat down on the coffee table in front of me, opened his can and took several large gulps, before setting it down, grabbing mine back and popping it open for me. When he handed it back, I scooted forward on the slick leather and took a sip, and realized that he was debating something again, in his head. I started to get angry at myself for being such a sissy. I’m sure he thought I wouldn’t be worth it. He probably thought I was too young and too inexperienced. That’s why he stopped.

“I haven’t eaten since breakfast…” I said, picking at the tab on top of my can and making a poor attempt to explain my behavior. When I looked back up, he was smirking at me.

“You’re afraid. I’m sorry I played a part in that, I didn’t realize how it might affect someone so young.” His voice was soft again, settling.

“I’m not that young… Six years isn’t that much…” I started to feel defiant again, and crossed my arms, pouting.

He chuckled, “It is when you’re barely grown.” He sighed and ran his hand through his hair. Noticing they were still dirty, I thought again about him rubbing them all over my body and I leaned forward, gripping the edge of the sofa with my fingers and pushing my chest out.

“Too young to play with?” I whispered before dropping to my knees in front of him and stripping off my t-shirt.

He raised an eyebrow and looked me over, “I thought you were hungry?”

“I am,” I whispered, trying to sound older and sexier as I reached for his waistband.

He leaned back slightly, looking amused, which only served to make me determined. I unbuttoned his jeans and slid down the zipper. I licked my lips as I slipped my fingers inside his boxers and around his growing erection. I gasped a little, as he sprang free, but wrapped my hands around his thick cock before he had time to laugh at me.

I started stroking him and then touched my lips to the tip, before swirling my tongue around it. He rumbled and leaned back further, gripping the back edge of the table, and watching me as though I might disappear. I sucked him into my mouth, working up and down, trying to get deeper with each stroke. I used my hands to make up for the lack of depth, and he didn’t seem to mind, his cock continued to grow in my mouth. I started to think about actually fucking him, and whether it would hurt.

I looked up into his hazy purple eyes, and realized I didn’t care. I didn’t care if he hurt me. I wanted him to hurt me. I wanted him to spank me. I pulled back, wondering what I could do or say to get him to do it. I contemplated asking him as I slid my hands up and down his length. Whatever the expression was on my face, it made his darken.

Without warning, he grabbed my hands and crossed them behind my head while stuffing himself in my mouth and slamming into the back of my throat. He fucked my mouth until I gagged and gasped, tears running down my cheeks.


When he pulled out and tossed my hands down, “You sure you want this, precious? You sure you can handle it?” I was stunned and panting, leaning against the couch trying to figure out what he wanted from me. I wiped my eyes, and straightened up onto my knees. Minutes passed, I struggled to find a response. He pushed the coffee table back and stood in front of me. “You aren’t answering me. That isn’t very respectful, dancer.” His eyes flashed and his fists clenched.

All I could think about was that spanking. But I didn’t want him to be upset with me. I stared at him. Did I want it because he wanted to give it? Or would he give it because I wanted it? The desire to make his anger disappear was greater than the other, so I dropped my eyes and whispered, “I’m sorry, Sir.”

His fingers slid under my chin, “Good girl. Now answer me.”

I nodded, leaning into his touch. “I- I do want it… You… But…” My throat started to tighten. I tried hard to get the defiance back, but it was gone. I tried to find that inner bitch, the invincible one who liked to fuck guys and throw them away, but she was gone too. I tried to convince myself to just get up and walk away. But I kind of liked how I was feeling. Trapped between desire and fear. Fixated on what I could say or do to make Jason happy. Please him. Make him call me Good girl, again. “I don’t want you to be angry with me.”

I stared up into his eyes and let the fear drain away. His expression changed, like he was seeing me for the first time.

“Shit,” he exhaled.

To Be Continued.

If you are all worked up and need more now, please head over to my blog, Pushing Our Limits to read some of my other fiction. Enjoy!


Florence + The MachineKiss With a Fist

You hit me once
I hit you back
You gave a kick
I gave a slap
You smashed a plate
Over my head
Then I set fire to our bed

My black eye casts no shadow
Your red eye sees no blame
Your slaps don’t stick
Your kicks don’t hit
So we remain the same
Blood sticks, sweat drips
Break the lock if it don’t fit
A kick in the teeth is good for some
A kiss with a fist is better than none
Whoa a kiss with a fist is better than none

Broke your jaw once before
I spilt your blood upon the floor
You broke my leg in return
So let’s sit back and watch the bed burn
Blood sticks sweat drips
Break the lock if it don’t fit
A kick in the teeth is good for some
A kiss with a fist is better than none
Whoa a kiss with a fist is better than none

You hit me once
I hit you back
You gave a kick
I gave a slap
You smashed a plate over my head
Then I set fire to our bed

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.

19 comments on “Dancer – Part 2

  1. mel
    December 15, 2013

    Reblogged this on Pushing our limits and commented:
    Check out my latest installment for HIA…

    Thanks HR!

    • mrmodigliani
      December 20, 2013

      I was trying to figure out if you were writing a second blog, but now I understand. I love the story Missy.

      • mel
        December 20, 2013

        Thank you, Sir. 🙂

      • mrmodigliani
        December 20, 2013

        I particularly like the part where she gets face fucked

      • mel
        December 20, 2013

        Unfortunately, my email attacker Wednesday did not.

      • mrmodigliani
        December 20, 2013

        I was just going to mention that you can delete my comment if it is too aggressive. I am very sorry that you were attacked on email.

      • mel
        December 20, 2013

        No way. I shouldn’t have brought his hate here as well, since he was too cowardly to leave it here himself.

        I simply don’t have it in me this morning to engage in the sexy banter, I apologize, Sir. But it is also one of my favorite parts of the story. Written well, I think.

      • mrmodigliani
        December 20, 2013

        I understand how you feel. I have a couple of female blogger friends who have been attacked. It is sad and often done by sad, lonely, pathetic men. Warmest wishes Missy.

      • mel
        December 20, 2013

        Thank you, Sir.

  2. friendlyhipster
    December 15, 2013

    Gone for weeks and when I get back, this is what is waiting in the queue!!!

  3. Hipster Racist
    December 15, 2013

    Reblogged this on Hipster Racist.

  4. errantsatiety
    December 19, 2013

    This is excellent Mel. A very good read. Very real. Can’t wait for part 3.

    • mel
      December 19, 2013

      It is written, well just have to wait for HIA to post it!

      • errantsatiety
        December 19, 2013

        Not posted? I don’t understand that! It is incredibly good 🙂

      • mel
        December 19, 2013

        HIA is a collaborative site. We submit our posts for review and they are then scheduled by HR. He has to do some work on mine (I don’t find my own pictures… not my thing)… regretfully, that means mine sit in queue for a while. But don’t worry, I’m sure it will go up in the next week or two.

      • errantsatiety
        December 19, 2013

        Hope so!

  5. Pingback: Dancer | Pushing our limits

  6. Pingback: Heartbreakers VIII | Hipster Intelligence Agency


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