Page 30 of Never Say Never

ROLE-PLAY

You have to learn the rules of the game. And then you have to play better than anyone else.

—ALBERT EINSTEIN

I’ve been a waitress, a nurse, and a bombshell. I’ve been a stripper, a streetwalker, and a dancer at the Crazy Horse. Trust me, I am no actor. I stutter and stammer on stage. Public speaking is my personal hell. But I love role-playing. Why? Because role-playing gives you permission to be anyone you want. And as you might have predicted, I have a wicked imagination. I’m an ace at thinking of new characters to be in the bedroom…and beyond. When I’m not creating ones from scratch, I’m embodying the characters of strangers I’ve seen in my travels.

Happily, you don’t need much to start this sort of game: A fantasy the two of you have shared. A movie scene you’d like to make real. A passage in a book—you only need to be on the same page.

Maybe in real life you’re pretty experienced. When you role-play, you can be a virgin, like the character in my story “The Girl of His Dreams”:

He was shaken. He said, “I’ve never seen you…” then lost his train of thought, “never seen you so…”

“What?” I asked, liking being in charge of the scenario, having no problem age-playing with him. I thought of the minidresses that I’d worn in college, still boxed up in my attic. I thought of the cheerleader outfit at the back of my closet, the one I’d worn in high school and at several Halloween parties since then. If Jonathan wanted young, I could give him young.

“You’re just so sweet,” he said again, running his fingers over my lips, bare of their normal dark raspberry shade of gloss. I had on no lipstick, no eye shadow, my face clean and fresh. He kissed me, taking my face in both of his hands, kissing me more passionately than ever. I basked in it, relaxed against him, felt the buckles of my overalls pressing into my skin. I said, “You really like this, don’t you?” leaning my body on his to feel his cock pressing against me.

He swallowed hard. He was having a difficult time admitting it.

“There’s nothing wrong with a little role-playing,” I said. “I can be the girl next door, outside gardening in my overalls.” I bent forward so that he could see my naked breasts beneath the denim bib. I undid the buckles again and let the front of the overalls fall open. He reached forward and touched one of my small, pert breasts, and then the other. He looked like he was going to pass out.

In “A Quick Ten,” I show how spanking and role-playing go hand in hand. Well, a hard-backed brush goes in one hand, but role-playing goes in the other:

He gave me two more strokes, raising the number to nine. I could tell he was going to make the tenth count, and he didn’t let me down, giving me the hardest stroke of all for the finale. Tears filled my eyes and a moan rose in my throat. Then, without a word, he lifted me from his lap, threw me down on the bed on my stomach and went on his knees on the floor behind me. He kissed my reddened asscheeks, kissed along the crack between them. He thrust his tongue between my thighs and lapped at the honeyed nectar that had collected there.

And then he fucked me, opening his fly and freeing his cock, fucking me from behind so that his clothes rubbed against my hot ass. He made me come like that, the feeling of being filled complemented by the coarseness of his pants rubbing against my skin. He said, “You liked that, bad girl. Only a really bad girl would get off on that,” still playing along. Still in the role.

One of the best things about role-playing is the fact that nobody is trapped. You can be one character one night, and someone new the next. Samantha Mallery writes in “Spring Cleaning”:

Eleanor nodded her immediate approval. She stood on our patio, a tissue-wrapped bouquet in her lovely hands. I let her in, feeling shy, as I always do when she’s in charge. It’s fun taking turns this way. It gives us both the opportunity to play different roles. When Eleanor is in charge, her very appearance seems to change. She has light honey-colored hair, and freckled skin. Her eyes are a deep brown, and they seem to glow when she’s in charge. They have a heat to them, and they flicker like the purple-gold flames in a campfire.

Elise Hepner’s “A Shot” takes the fantasy of role-playing to a new level—outside of the bedroom.

“A shot. Tequila.”

A glass slid across the bar, amber liquid coating the glossy-topped wood.

“Thanks,” Hattie shifted her black curls behind one ear and glanced down—back toward the man in a black muscle-tee and low-slung jeans.

His gray eyes appraised, full mouth inching up into a half grin. The nape of her neck burned, a blush flared up her pale cheekbones. His stern nod to the half-spilled shot. With a deep breath, she knocked it back. Now the burn inside matched the heat on the outside.

“Another,” she croaked, waving a ten.

He saddled closer, snatching her wrist in his icy grip. His bruising fingers wrenched a low gasp out of her lips, breasts inching forward across the bar, scraping her extra-sensitive nipples across the wood. Tender, aching, full. A shudder licked down her spine.

“I’ll be the judge of that. Get back there. I’ll come for you.”

His other hand caressed her cheek and her pulse skittered. Their eyes locked. Her mouth watered, pussy slick, mind blank. He was sweet-scented—and devious. So right.

Did he have to say anything else?

Why not?

Hattie waited, fingers tapping the bathroom door frame. Nipples pebbled with anticipation.

Before she composed her thoughts, he shoved her back against the door. A rough clap—stung her back and ass. Her hand palmed his thick cock. His breath, a sensual tease.

“I’ve always wanted to fuck a bartender. Glad you hijacked your best friend’s job.”

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