Madam X

I close my eyes; open my legs and slowly run my hands up the inside of my thighs under my short blue satin slip.

I continue with just my middle finger inside of my thigh... high up... and I get a chill as I reach a certain place.

It's like I have my own private G-spot high on my inner thigh. I have lain awake many nights lightly touching myself there. I can bring myself to a quite acceptable little orgasm that way.

"Uhhh, uhhh, uhhh... feels... feels... sooo good!" I am taking a little break from putting on makeup and some soft coral lipstick, just to touch myself intimately.

I put a little perfume on with my finger, and apply just a touch behind my ear and another light touch across my collarbone, before lowering my finger to apply some in... a few other places.

The lightest touch across the very edge of my pussy lips does it. My body heat and sweat will do the rest. "Mmm!" I can smell it working already!

That light tickly fingertip touch to my, mmm... private place, gives me... a shiver. I am careful not to apply too much. I reach behind to apply a little line down my crack, more for how it feels to apply it, as for the aromatic effect it will have.

That blue slip is the only thing I am wearing just now, and I decide to touch myself, to get a little selfish pleasure before I go out.

I do not go out every night... I simply do not have the time.

I am a twenty-six year old patent attorney by day, and take a lot of work home. Some nights I have a friend over. I am not in love with David, but he loves me. He is an attorney like me, and helps with my research, and... some other things!

He is intelligent, well educated, and simply nice to have around most times. He has a very high cultural IQ, and I love having someone to go with me to the Opera or the theater. He takes me out afterward for some coffee, and intelligent discussion of the opera. He can tell when a soprano over-sings her part for effect, is late on an entrance, or misses her high notes.

David is an excellent companion, and when he is a good boy, I let him fuck me. He is a wonderful lover! He has a circumcised cock that is... mmm... so nice... and fits very snuggly into my little Quimmy. He is larger than average, but not by much... I like the thickness of it... the way it feels in my hand... the warmth of it. He is nearly the only one I let inside me without wearing latex. I start to think about David's wonderful cock slowly sliding into my quim, and get another little shudder.

I still see my ex-husband Derek from time to time, and I allow him the same privilege... being naked inside me. I am not seeing either David or Derek tonight though. I am going out on my own. I lick the pre-cum off my middle finger after having just given myself a nice jittery little preview of coming attractions... maybe.

I am smart, I am vain, I am selfish, and my pleasure always comes first. I understand the way I am, and I accept it. Please do not judge.

Derek always goes the whole way, calling my Sondra. If he ever tries shorten it to anything cutesy, he knows that I would deck him. Poor bastard was smart to get out while the getting was good. Can't blame him for that!

"My poor sweet Derek; you are so amazing, my dear!" I say aloud to myself.

He was too good for me and I knew it, I chased him away with affairs that meant

nothing

to me... less than nothing, really. I didn't want to hurt him, but I did... I was cruel about it.

I suppose I really cannot help the way I am. But, in my own defense, I do sometimes have regrets! I regret hurting dear sweet Derek!

When I go out tonight, I will be incognito. I am have a compelling need to be anonymous when I go out; careful about not letting one-nighter's know my true identity. I am a professional, and have a reputation to protect that is worth mid-six figures a year.

So what should you call me? How about, um... Madam... X!

Yeah, Madam X. It has that delicious 1960's Lana Turner ring to it, doesn't it?

It may as well be Madam X, since I will give any man I am with tonight some bullshit made up name because I have to!

The funny thing is that I did run into one of these men casually, and I had a hell of a time remembering what name I used when I met him. I use whatever name pops into my head when they ask me for one. Mostly they are just an anonymous parade of cocks to me.

I could just as easily have greeted him with, "Oh, hello Mr. six-and-three-quarters inches, nice to see you again."

Does all of this make me a slut... or a bitch? You may decide for yourself, but as always, be careful of judging others, if you would not wish to be judged yourself. But, before you get carried away with labels, remember just as you cannot help being who and what you are, good or bad; I cannot help being who I am.

At least I am honest.

So, what does Sondra/Madam X look like? I am five foot two, and about a hundred pounds all dressed up. I am a natural ash blond with blue eyes, and a face that draws a lot of male attention.

Girls know when they are pretty... they learn that early in life.

I have small breasts, but they are firm and high up on my chest. That gives me a little cleavage... even in the most modest dress. I love that... the feeling of being sexy.

The feeling on my skin as I slowly lift my silky slip up over my head, gives me a shiver. I sit in front of the mirror for a moment, just admiring my petite body. I will not have any problem finding male company tonight, but I am very meticulous in my selection of a companion.

My stockings slip easily onto my legs, one at a time. It feels good as I smooth them into place, and pull up the elastic band at the top. They end about three inches south of my sit spot. I can't help sliding a finger up for a final little shiver.

I slip into heels—five inches. Wearing just my stockings and heels, I walk to the closet to select a dress. Tonight it is going to be... my short tight black dress with a v-shaped front, and a scoop back that goes down to the small of my back.

It is a sexy dress, but not slutty... I am not a hooker and try not to look like one when I go out. Actually, it is quite and expensive little dress, tailored to fit me like a glove. I am not wearing a bra but decide to wear G-string panties tonight, because I love the feel of the dress fabric rubbing against my bare ass, and it does afford some protection. If I find the right man tonight, I just might want his hands up my dress and on my naked ass.

Derek insisted long ago that I get some martial arts training, so to a point, I can take care of myself... in most circumstances. I have not yet had the opportunity to use my skills but it is comforting to know that I have them to some degree.

With my dress on, I brush my hair, and push up my tits to get the right amount of cleavage. It is nine o'clock, and I am ready. If I can get a man's hands on me while dancing, and enjoy some pleasant company, that is enough for a Friday night.

I look at myself approvingly in the mirror, front and back, throw a couple of condoms in my purse along with my small automatic (for which I have a conceal carry permit) and I am out the door.

I spend so much time alone, that I do a lot of thinking. I think about my life, comparing my life situation to those of my girlfriends who have

not

chased their husbands away. I have the life I have, and I am satisfied with who and what I am for right now.

I am alone, but not lonely.

I loved Derek, but I did not want to hurt him, so I let him go while he was still young enough to find someone more deserving. I am afraid that he has become addicted to running his hands over my shapely little ass, and to sliding his cock into me.

He knows that I will let him have me whenever he wants.

Derek is my age. He is very handsome, and a time or two I thought I might have to use that little automatic on some of the women that won't leave him alone when we were out together... just kidding! Hell, I would never do that of course. My little piece is just for life threatening situations I cannot handle with a nerve-pinch, a foot stomp, or a knee to the nuts.

I think about my analyst as I drive, since I talked with him yesterday. He tells me that I have 'antisocial personality' disorder. I looked it up in the psychology texts, and I disagree. I think I am closer to what Freud describes as a classic narcissist. My shrink may be an M.D. and a psychiatrist, but I am smarter than he is. I have an IQ measured at 190.

I also thought about my boss whom I treated very shabbily today. He tried to second-guess one of my cases, and I let him have it with the full force of my intellect. Poor Stanley; he is an excellent attorney though. He can't afford to fire me, since I am the top patent lawyer in this town, a partner, and I bring in so much business. Our firm specializes in patent work and I am the go-to girl.

In the office, I am a little shark!

Most of our employees are scared shitless of me when I walk through to my office. I don't cultivate that, it just seems to happen. So maybe my dumb-shit shrink is right... at least to some extent. I have observed that the boys sometimes let things slide between them, but I do not! I require only the best from my employees, or they are not employees for long.

I have to say, it makes me smile a little when some of the male employees cower as I burst through the front door in the morning. I am sure the word "BITCH" has been used in my absence to describe me. But, as a partner and their boss, I am fair... tough, but fair. Still, turning the tables on the men in a male-oriented society is a bit of a turn-on.

But tonight, I am just a little sweetheart in a tiny black dress, and I am going to enjoy the

hell

out of my time out on the town. Maybe I will get laid, and maybe not. The club I am going to tonight is what you might call a "target rich" environment. But, I am very selective as I have said, and I may end up alone.

I pull up to the front of the club, hand my Mercedes key-fob to the valet, walk in looking for a table along the side close to the dance floor. There is a good crowd tonight, but I they direct me to a very nice café table where I wish to be. Fifty bucks in the right hand always gets you a great table.

I never sit at the bar... that's what hookers do... and there are a couple of them here tonight as well. They are easy for another woman to spot.

I have done that too. If I don't find what I want in a man I will sometimes push my body up against a pretty hooker, stuff three hundred's in her bra and tell her to do whatever that will buy, They do not let streetwalkers into this place, so I know the girls are clean and safe.

I like girl sex, and that musky smell of an aromatic little pussy really turns me on, but mostly I need a cock to fill me up. Tonight it is going to be dancing and drinks with some nice man... maybe!

As I entered, two men gave me the eye bigtime. One was a wimp, and the other looked clueless... most likely both married. I hope they do not ask me to dance. I order a salty dog and the waiter brings it on a nice crisp little napkin. Grapefruit and vodka with a salt ring... great drink, but I will likely switch to something like watered-down bourbon later.

I hear a voice. I look up.

"Well, hello Miss salty dog. That's kind of a sour drink for such a sweet lady, isn't it?"

I am looking at a handsome man with an amazingly confident smile. "Wow!" I think to myself, as I look him up and down and reply,

"What makes you think I'm so sweet? Sit down and give me an intelligent answer."

"Okay, you've got me. It was a rather lame line... you going to make me feel like a fool for using it?"

"Jury is still out. Keep talking and I will let you know my verdict."

"My name is Jason Wi—" I interrupted him,

"Please no last names. My name is... Angela. Yah, tonight it's Angela. So what is your bullshit made up name for tonight."

"Well, you caught me, so I will stick with Jason, but I will not tell you if it is my real name." He looked into my eyes as if he was reading my thoughts,

"You're a lawyer aren't you? I can see your mind working, and I'll bet you will be about two pages ahead of me as I speak."

"Close, go on."

"You are a perfectionist and you live alone, but are not lonely." (I nodded) He smiled confidently, "I guess we could sit here and mind-fuck each other for a while longer, or we could dance."

Without asking permission, he stood up took my hand and I rose as he led me to a rather dark part of the dance floor. He put my hands on his shoulder, and placed both of his on my hips.

We talked a little as we danced, but nothing of any great consequence, just chit-chat. We talked about the music, the place, the number of other dancers, my little black dress... that kind of shit.

The live band was good tonight, and provided us with some great music for dancing. Jason was pleasant, and might even be someone with a brain. I get so tired of braindead accountants out cheating on their wives.

I have fucked a couple married men out of clubs before though; just based on looks, and I required them all to wear latex. I have no respect for a frump of a wife who cannot be bothered, to figure out how to hang on to her man. I am not the home-wrecker, she is.

It is a wife's job to make her man

feel

sexy isn't it?

Derek was a good and attentive husband, and I loved him and tried to be a good wife, but the lifestyle just didn't take. I knew that he would be happier without me in the long-run. Perhaps more wives should figure that out. I still get to make love to him, though.

Jason slid his hands around me, with one just above my ass, and the other one on my bare back. He pulled me into him a little as we danced, and I brought both of my hands in, putting them flat on his chest with my cheek over his heart between them. The hand on my back somehow moved itself onto my ass. I reached behind me and moved it back up off my butt to more neutral territory.

I may want to give myself to Jason tonight, or I may not... jury hasn't come in yet! I am not a slut, and if I leave this place

without

getting laid, that is okay. I am here to have fun, and not just to troll for cock. Jason gets the message and whispers,

"Sorry."

I just looked up at him and smiled.

We dance one more dance in kind of a hip-hop/salsa style. Jason moves pretty well, and I just smile as he confidently swivels his legs and hips to the music. I stifle a little giggle as he sees me examining his dance style, and exaggerates his moves to entertain me.

This guy might be alright, but it will take more than some funky dance moves to get into my musky little putang. Yup, the jury is deliberating hard on handsome Jason.

After the dance, he walked me back to my table, kissed my hand continental style, and then excused himself to return to his friends. He went to the bar and ordered another salty dog for me and the waiter delivered it. As I lifted my glass to thank him, one of the men I mentally rejected as I walked in interrupted me. It was the clueless one. He asked me to dance, and I accepted before I had a chance to say no, still distracted by Jason.

"SHIT!" I thought, why didn't I say no to this idiot. We started to dance, and I tried to keep it to a standard dance pose, keeping some distance. As we danced on, he moved one hand to my bare back, and one onto my ass, heading for the hem of my dress. It was a short dress, so he didn't have far to go. I reached around, pinched the pressure point just inside his wrist and twisted it around behind him forcing him to his knees.

"You need to learn to be more of a gentleman, asshole!"

"Fuck you bi—"

Jason and a couple of his friends interrupt this jerk in mid-curse. They haul him up by the scruff, and escort him and his wimpy friend out the door... roughly. Jason and his friends come back to see if I am all right. The bigger of his two friends, Gary says,

"Damn, honey. Remind me not to piss you off!" I look up at him without smiling,

"Don't piss me off!"

"No ma'am, you've got it!" then I did smile, and he introduces himself and his other friend whose name is Phil. Jason invited me to join them at their table if I cared to.

These are nice guys just out for a few drinks, dancing, and a little guy-to-guy bullshit. They figure I can handle it, and we talk about cars, sports, and broads. I was having fun, and I dance with each of them a couple of times. After one particular dance, Jason leans in and whispers,

"Save the last one for me, Angela." I smiled and winked, and we rejoined the others.

In retrospect, they seemed to be impressed with my knowledge of sports, and I put up what I thought were some valid assessments of our new baseball talent. My arguments were all very sound. Jason smiled and said,

"I knew you were a lawyer!"

"Well, you are right, I am. I am a patent attorney. Actually I am the

best

patent attorney in this town."

"I don't doubt that Angela." Jason answers laughing, and then leans over and whispers to me, "Wait until these guys leave, and we can have some time alone."

I smile and nod to him. I like Jason, but I have not yet decided whether to fuck him or not. I had fun with Jason's friends, but they get the hint and decide to leave. They made me promise that we'll all do it again sometime. I did!

They are terrific, and to them I am now one of the boys. They mostly liked that I was not embarrassed when we all assessed the rest of the female talent in the room. They got my advice on how to spot a real bitch! I rose and gave Gary and Phil both a kiss on the cheek. Gary pats me on my ass, but I don't object. Gary just being Gary I am guessing.

As we talk, and I find out that Jason is a regional sales manager for a large steel supply firm in town, has an MBA, and loves Mozart, Bach and Vivaldi. I ask him if he will escort me to

Le Nazze di Figaro

due at the opera house next month. He agrees whole-heartedly and when he offers to get the tickets, I tell him that I have two season tickets and I give him the number of a burn phone I carry for such purposes.

The band announces last dance, and since it is a slow one, Jason rises and extends his hand to me in a rather formal and gentlemanly gesture. I smile take his hand and I let him lead me to the dance floor. We find an area that is completely in shadow, and dance close...very close. I push my body into him as much as possible.

He slips a hand down onto my ass, and then slides it up under my dress. I moan softly, which gives him permission to go further. His hand is on my bare ass, just massaging it slowly as we dance. I couple of men sitting off to the side notice what we are doing, and I turn us so that they get a ringside seat to what Jason is doing to me.

I don't know if Jason is noticing what I am doing, but he continues to explore my body, and I get a little shiver knowing that I am exposing myself to these two strangers. He moves his fingers down to my pussy, and pulls my string bikini aside as he slips a finger inside me. I continue to moan, then I lift my face, and he kisses me passionately. I whisper,

"Let's get out of here, Jason."

He smiles, grabs his sports jacket from his chair as I reach for my purse. He asks me to follow him to his townhouse, and I nod. As I pick up my purse, the pistol slides out. He picks it up, and ejects the clip. Seeing that it is loaded, he slams the clip back into the handle and hands it back to me.

"I hope you are a lousy shot my dear!"

"I have a gold medal for marksmanship, a local competition shoot. Sorry!"

"Well I promise to be on my best behavior, ma'am." We both laugh and I answer,