High-school and university passed by without any other notable incidents, at least any worth mentioning. I studied marketing, sales and managing and succeeded easily, with some minor comments but nothing that people took too much notice off. In the meantime I experimented with guys and girls, using as much control as possible, to make sure that no rumors of me would ever surface. And they never did. I learned the way I handled it was with a fairly obsessive and compulsive need to keep control of the situation. Obsessive compulsive disorder, something I appeared to be afflicted with as well as nymphomania, usually ruined your life fairly badly. But with me, in an odd stroke of luck, the focus on it laid almost explicitly on the sexual side of things. It was the only thing in me stronger than my nymphomania.
People never noticed, they just saw me as a clever, calm girl that talks when needed and doesn't really stand out. Pretty, in good shape, but not dressed one way or the other. Above average, but not noticeably so. Polite, gentle, nice and honest, someone who didn't really get into trouble. In a way it was true, as long as my adventures behind closed curtains were ignored or unnoticed. And I worked very hard to keep it that way. Even minor rumors never made it far, as they never matched what people knew of me and were immediately discarded as too unlikely.
My experiments, therefore, led me not too far astray from the norm. I never wanted anything to show on my body, so bondage and masochism was not an option (as a recipient). I wouldn't have liked it, anyway. I've tried dominating a few times with guys that really desired it and found it funny, but not too exciting. Excitement, that was the real problem. Orgasms by themselves were easy as long as it was me doing it. Rubbing myself or thrusting anything inside was easy enough. But, somehow, it didn't seem to work the same way when someone else did it. It used to be so much easier, but more and more it became difficult to feel satisfied with sex. Despite needing it so badly. It changed a little bit when I started wearing wigs, as it allowed me to be more openly flirtatious. With some study of make-up and accessories, I could look so different that even my mother wouldn't recognize me on a medium distance. Once I got my hands on some proper color contacts, my disguise set was complete.
For a while, things were a lot better again. A few times I could be closer to the edge of discovery, having sex in public places or with more interesting people. I visited S&M clubs to see if it was pleasurable for me, even hitting a guy with a whip a few times, assisted by a more experienced mistress. But it wasn't my thing. It didn't take very long to discover that I needed to be in control, but not obviously so. The most enjoyable was when I could lead a guy on and he'd do exactly what I wanted, thinking he had the upper hand. That game of deceive and subject, was very fulfilling. It also served to show me who they were before I even got them into the bedroom.
Though sometimes they surprised me.
As I said, I had gone to some S&M clubs, to try and find my own boundaries. But sometimes it is just a good place to go to find more submissive or desperate people. Something I still do on occasion.
One night, I felt like having someone I could control completely, who would bark if I said so. And it didn't take me that long to find one. Despite the amount of women in the place (you'd be surprised), quite a few men didn't have the balls to be forward and had to be approached. And, as an unwritten rule, you left 'couples' alone. Once a man and a woman were already talking, you let them be. It also meant that as soon as I'd found someone I liked, I could find out anything I wanted before I even became intimate with him. The guy I found was a little older than I was (I was around twenty-seven and he in his late thirties) that looked to be totally into me. It was one of his first times visiting here and, supposedly, he only had an apartment here since recently. He easily told me of his fantasy to be dominated, told what to do exactly, but not with whips or hitting as such.
He seemed forward with his answers, listened to me when I gave short commands and was willing to take me to his apartment. It was nearby, a simple not too bad looking place with a few rooms. Like usual, I let him open the door, show me in and around. It was after midnight by then, so no one else in the building was awake anyway, we had all the time. The living-room was not too bad looking, simple design and color, though the animal rug on the floor looked absolutely alluring. I knelt down to feel it with my hands, wondering if it was real fur. It was and very, very soft. He told me it was caribou, I believed him. Of course I wasn't going to allow myself to get carried away, I had to stay in control. The guy asked if I wanted something to drink, I declined. I wanted to start the whole thing and get what I needed off him. Even if he didn't make me climax, the sex itself would make the itch slightly less.
Instead, I ordered him to sit on his knees and kiss my boots. With barely a look of surprise and hesitation, he knelt down in front of me and kissed my boots. He looked happy to do so, so I allowed him to remove my boots and his own clothes. Then, step by step, I asked him to kiss, lick and even nibble softly in places all over my body, enjoying his loyalty and aptness quite a lot. He did exactly as I asked, barely saying anything back except to confirm the command. He didn't seem to be very experienced in all of this, or his pleasuring of me, but his ability to follow my words to the letter mostly made up for that. I knew what I wanted, in much detail, so it was easy for me to be specific. To have him lick me or finger me exactly like I wanted. The best part of that, for me, was to lie down with my back on the fur and feel it tickling me while he nibbled on my nipples and my clitoris, bringing me fairly close to orgasm. I was impressed.
Things, however, changed a little when I ordered him to lie down on his back (on the fur), so I could lower myself on top of him. It wasn't bad, as such, but he surprised me with a question, a request. He asked me to hold my hands at his throat while I lowered myself on top of him, to make him choke.
I know the word now, of course, but I didn't then and it surprised me. But, willing to experiment with this, I did as he asked. Upon request, more pressure was applied to properly choke him, I could feel his lust rising immensely as I did so, it made his (nicely sized) member engorge even more and poke the air in distraught desire. When I lowered myself on top of him, my hands automatically pressed harder, making him even more aroused. The lust almost steamed off him, more than I thought possible with this man. Automatically, when I rose again, feeling his quivering member slide out of me, I let his throat go a little to allow him gasp for air. The look in his eyes was filled with gratitude, undeniable lust and longing for more. He didn't have to ask again.
Soon I got into a rhythm of choking him with my hands in a fairly gentle way. My knowledge of biology was good enough to know how where exactly the windpipe was positioned and could work out, from basic principle, how to close it with just my thumbs. Efficient and easy. It would cause the same effect, but with less effort or bruising. My pace picked up, impressed by his longevity in this situation, and felt myself getting a lot closer to orgasm than I normally would. It was just a little bit more, just a tiny bit longer. Automatically, without thinking, I forced his windpipe closed as I rose the final few times, instinctively knowing it would pull me over the edge. He immediately came deep within me at the same time as passing out. I didn't release but held until he died. I didn't know how I knew, it was the first time any of this had happened to me but instincts took over. And I came. Very, very hard. My moans echoed through the room exactly in the way that his didn't. I just shivered as I had squirted again and felt immensely satisfied, for the first time in literally years.
He was still inside of me, stiff, while I released his throat. He didn't gasp, nor fight below me. It only dawned on me then that he had passed away. Instead of trying to resuscitate him, which would have been the more humane thing to do I guess, I just got up mostly surprised by the whole thing. I had orgasmed harder than I had in the many, many years since my female friend. Finally gotten back what I'd lost so long ago. His fate wasn't exactly on my mind.
My own fate, however, was.
With surprising presence of mind, I went to the bathroom, cleaned myself up and got dressed. A moment of thought was needed for me to go into his kitchen, get towels and a bottle of bleach. With that, I cleaned the bathroom where I'd been and whatever I'd touched. It wasn't difficult, my obsessive compulsive nature registered it all. The final few minutes were spend cleaning his body, removing my own fluids as best I could and spoiling the rest of it with bleach. It probably would stain and ruin the fur, such a pity. After some more careful cleaning and rethinking, making sure I hadn't forgotten anything, I felt confident to leave the apartment and silently go. He hadn't screamed, for obvious reasons and the building was new enough to be fairly isolated anyway. I doubt anyone would have been awake to hear me scream.
Still a bit dazed, I left it all behind.