Hipster Intelligence Agency

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Heartbreakers VIII


So I have Yoga Ass collared, on a leash, on all fours crawling around her apartment. I tell her, “go get the paddle.” She crawls over to the corner, picks up the paddle and holds it between her teeth, and I yank on the leash while she crawls back to me.

“You’ve been a very naughty girl, Dancer. What are you doing picking up strange men at bars, anyway? I could be dangerous! How do you know I’m not a serial killer or something? Anyway, you’re going to get it now.” I flash her a smile.

The look on her face was priceless. She looked scared, somewhat, but clearly aroused. She was totally naked, other than her collar and leash, and her body was just unbelievable. It’s true what they say about yoga chicksthey have the best bodies, bar none, of any women. Whatever it is, it keeps them in tip top shape – and man oh man, are they flexible too. They can actually bend their legs behind their heads, for real. It’s an interesting position and it goes deep – too deep usually – but some women need it harder than others.


Honestly, I’m thinking to myself – “how the hell did I score this little piece of heaven? I’m batting way out of my league here.”

So I’m sitting on the bed, she’s got the paddle in her mouth, so I reach down and take it from her.

“Up, up. Over my knee young lady. This is what you get for being bad.” She raises herself up, puts herself across my lap, face down, and just lies there quietly. I grab her by a thigh and bend her over until her face is almost touching the floor, her ass directly over my lap. I sort of brush the paddle against her ass, making little circles, just sort of warming her up. I lift it up, and slap it down really gently, just a taste, not actually hard enough to hurt her yet.

That’s coming, though.

We had been fucking for weeks, and at this point I was being way unsafe. I had actually been fucking her without a condom, just sort of assuming since she let me she must be on this pill or something. Good lord, this girl was hot stuff. 21 years old, working her first job, living in her first apartment, just out of mommy’s house. Flirting with strange men at bars. That’s where I found her, picked her up. She was totally buying what I was selling too. In fact, she had made the first move, and I had, of course, taken her up on the offer with great enthusiasm. Things had gotted dramatic so I figured it was time to escalate, playing this game.


I remember the first time a girl asked me to choke her. I thought that was weird as hell, honestly, but had sort of come to understand the desire. Women like relinquishing control. They want their lover in charge of their body. Women want to choose the partner – but they want the dance chosen for them. Even better if it’s a surprise, and they don’t know what’s coming next. It’s a sweet, sublime surrender to them. You just can’t over estimate how different women are from men. Most men just don’t – can’t – understand. Lacking the empathy to put themselves in someone else’s shoes, they can never see the other side. So they are terrible lovers and never actually experience what women are like when they are totally surrendered – how hot it is for them, how grateful they are that a man took the initiative to totally dominate them, to have their body – and their mind – totally in their hands to do with as they please.

Women … love … that.

“The men don’t know, but the little girls understand.” — The Doors, Back Door Man


Well, Yoga Ass led me on an adventure, short lived thought it was. More drama, hotter sex, and more complication than I had dealt with in a while. Although I didn’t know it yet, our paths had already crossed twice before. It was about midnight, and I’m in my apartment in bed with Whisperer when there was a knock on the door. I had no idea who would be knocking at the door this late – I knew no one in this town, other than Whisperer, her friends, Little Miss Fuck and Run, the Angel’s parents, and now Yoga Ass (“Dancer,” when I was feeling romantic.) So I ask who it is, and some dude is on the other side of the door, asking for this girl with a very unusual name. I just yelled through the door, “dude, you’ve got the wrong apartment.” It took a minute or two for him to get the message and he leaves. But then, an hour later, he comes back, clearly drunk, banging on my apartment door looking for Dancer – who I didn’t even know at this point, but would find out had just moved into the apartment below mine. This guy, drunk, is not taking no for an answer and thinks this is Dancer’s apartment, and I’m some strange guy she has over. Finally, he wanders down the hallway and I have to get this guy to leave before he starts disturbing the neighbors. Whisperer is freaking out as I grab a big ass knife from the kitchen, open the door and wander through the hallway in just my underwear about to tell this guy to split.

That would be the first time a weapon was involved in my drama with Yoga Ass – this, before we had actually even met. The next time it wasn’t a knife.

To be continued.


4 comments on “Heartbreakers VIII

  1. Hipster Racist
    May 2, 2014

    Reblogged this on Hipster Racist and commented:
    OK, Mel, I can’t write as sexy as you and you sort of stole my Dancer character from me, so I’m stealing her back.

    Harold Renegade’s continuing adventure with Dancer, the yoga instructor he meets while hiding out, bouncing between a downtown apartment and the governor’s lawyer’s farm. It must be fiction, because none of this could possibly be true. An obviously unrealistic story involving spies, kinky sex, and a conspiracy so big that Americans still can’t accept the obvious truth.

    • mel
      May 2, 2014

      Ah, HR, what you lack in Eroticism, you completely make up for with intrigue. Plus, my Dancer BECAME your Dancer, even though I stole her from you!! ❤

  2. Pingback: The Life and Times of Hipster Racist | Hipster Racist

  3. dievca
    May 2, 2014

    Intrigued, then LOL at the video, and giggling at the trash talk. Thanks! XO


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