Addicted to Provocation

Addicted to Provocation – An Erotic Story by Venus O’Hara

Addicted to Provocation

It’s a sunny Sunday morning. I wake up trembling and sweating, anxious for my next fix. To achieve the desired effect, I need to share the experience with someone who will respond to the stimuli on offer. I pick up my phone to send a message to a fellow addict. I suggest that we meet for brunch on a roof terrace. I know he will understand what I really mean and desire; when it comes to intoxicating habits, the use of code language is quite common. He will know that it means I want to satisfy our mutual cravings and get high on provocation. I want to see how much I can provoke him and how long I can keep him on the edge until we both inevitably give in and seek pleasure


Once we agree on a time and place, I hurry to take a shower. While I lather my naked body, I can hardly contain my excitement, especially when I decide to offer him a purer and more concentrated version of his favourite drug. In other words, I decide to wear a dress and go out without any underwear. I laugh to myself as I imagine his reaction. 

When I leave the house, I feel a little paranoid, hoping that the spring breeze won’t lift my skirt and expose me to the passers-by. I think I’d be mortified if that were to happen. Aside from the paranoia, I do enjoy the sensation of the air blowing against my most intimate parts. It’s highly stimulating and I can feel how horny I’m getting. This is because of the damp sensation at the tops of my inner thighs which becomes more and more apparent with each step I take. 


We meet and greet each other with a kiss. ‘You’re up to something’ he says as we start walking towards a cafe I like. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ I lie. He knows me so well, but I don’t want to unveil my provocative plan just yet.


Because of the good weather, all the terraces we visit are occupied. I become impatient. I need to find a table otherwise my plan won’t work. I feel frustrated all of a sudden. But before I despair, I take him down a narrow alley. “I have something to confess,” I say to him. He looks at me perplexed as if I’m about to give him bad news. “I’m not wearing underwear,” I confess.


‘You’re such a tease,’ he says before telling me that he doesn’t believe me. He wants proof. My word is not enough since an addict should never be trusted. He steps a few paces back from me as I lift my short dress to reveal my hidden stash and prove to him that I’m not lying.


When his face lights up, I begin to feel the effects of the drug immediately. I’m very, very wet, and the pulsations of my clitoris begin to affect my concentration. It’s like having a heartbeat between my thighs. I feel mischievous, powerful and eager to push the limits of my provocation to the max. He licks his lips as he stares at my nakedness. I cover myself again, hoping that no one has seen me. 


‘Wait until I get you home,’ he says. 


I smile with satisfaction and then we decide to carry on walking. Fortunately, we arrive at a café with a free table on the terrace, and I sit facing him to provide him with the best views.


I order tea and a croissant and occasionally spread my knees just enough to expose my naked vulva to him. Every time he looks at me, I notice the evident desire in the expression on his face as well as a huge bulge in his trousers that he tries to hide. When I notice his obvious discomfort, I get even more aroused.


With every sip of tea, the impatience to be alone in private grows. As much as I enjoy provoking him in public, it takes being behind closed doors to receive the high and reach the climax that I really crave. I know that the more I provoke him, the stronger and more unforgettable it will be, and he will show me that he’s just as addicted to provocation as I am.

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