The Power Of Feminine Influence

I was a 22-year-old living in New York City when I stumbled upon Angela in a bar. She was a stunning model for a large national department store, she was simply a goddess of beauty. Standing at about six feet tall with a flawless physique, she effortlessly turned heads of both men and women. She could have had her pick of any millionaire in the city, yet on this day she chose to strike up a conversation with me.

In my younger years, I was considered reasonably attractive. Though I was only 5'10", I was in the military at the time, and I was in pretty good shape. I didn’t have a problem finding women to date, and I had dated some really pretty. However, when Angela approached me at the bar and showed genuine interest, I couldn't help but feel like it might have been a scam. I kept glancing around, expecting that she was actually there to meet someone else. As our conversation continued, I was astonished by her unwavering attention, and I did my best to make her laugh and keep her entertained, fully aware that there were probably better suitors in that bar. As her friends joined us, I engaged with them as well, hoping to win their favor and improve my standing with Angela. Her roommates and her best friend, Carol, who was also a model, were surprisingly accepting of me. Given their beauty and the attention they garnered, it seemed too good to be true. However, I dismissed any suspicions and attributed their amicability to the effects of alcohol as we downed drinks and shots at the bar. My friends gave me approving nods for grabbing the attention of such gorgeous women.

I was not one for casual encounters, having only had a single one night stand in my entire life. However, when Angela asked if I wanted to go home with her, there was no way I could decline. Never before had someone so breathtakingly beautiful shown interest in me, let alone expressed a desire to have sex with me. So, I walked with Angela and her four friends to their apartment, just a few blocks away from the bar. They were all a bit tipsy, and their giggling seemed a bit excessive, to the point where I felt like an outsider of their inside jokes. Nonetheless, I was just happy to be accompanying Angela back to her place.

Once we arrived, her friends grabbed more drinks as the giggling continued. Angela went to the pantry, and to my surprise, she returned holding a sandwich-sized zip-lock bag. Her friends erupted in laughter upon seeing it. I found it odd that she needed a bag at that moment, but I didn't question it. Being in her presence was all that mattered to me. Her friends went into the living room, and with a mischievous smile, Angela grabbed my hand and said, "Let's go up to my room." Eagerly, I followed her through the living room and up the stairs.

As soon as she closed the bedroom door, I leaned in to kiss her. However, she sternly pushed me away with a disgusted look on her face. "Don't touch me," she said firmly. Confusion washed over me. There was no way I had misread the situation, or so I thought. "I thought you wanted to have sex?" I asked, seeking clarification. "With you? Not a chance in hell," she replied in a mean and rude tone. Utterly perplexed, I inquired, "Okay, then why am I here? Why did you invite me back to your place?" With an evil smirk and a mean tone, she replied. "I bet my friends a hundred dollars each, that I could make you masturbate into this zip-lock bag. She then held up a bag, leaving me in complete shock. "I'm sorry... What?" I stammered, taken aback by her proposition.

"You heard me correctly," she retorted sharply.

"Okay, I clearly underestimated the level of craziness here. I'm leaving," I said, feeling a surge of unease about my safety.

"Sit down. You're not going anywhere," she asserted, and at that moment, I grew even more nervous. I found myself trapped in a house with an unfamiliar woman who exhibited alarming behavior and seemed unstable. The thought of why she desired my cum in a bag only added to my fear. Unsure of how to respond, my mind focused on escaping the situation. I stuttered, "This is insane. I'm leaving."

"I don't think you really want to leave," she stated confidently, her tone now friendlier.

"And why is that?" I inquired.

"Because if you leave, I won't show you my pussy," she said, still in a friendly manner.

Curiosity mixed with apprehension as I witnessed her unbuttoning her pants and slipping them off. My jaw dropped, and I was rendered speechless when I saw her incredibly long and beautiful legs. She wore a seductive silk pink thong that accentuated her pussy, leaving me captivated.

Overwhelmed by the situation, I struggled to form a coherent sentence. "Uh... Uh... Oh," were the only sounds I managed to utter.

Pointing towards her crotch, she continued, "That's right. If you cum in the bag, then I'll will show you my pussy."

"You're crazy," I said in disbelief.

"Maybe. But let's be honest. A woman as attractive as me has never offered you such an opportunity. Of all my friends who are models, none of them would ever have sex with you. Neither would I. However, you will have the chance to see the most beautiful vagina you've ever encountered on a stunning girl who is willing to partially undress in front of you. This might seem crazy, but it could also be the highlight of your life. So don't blow it," she confidently declared.

Still stunned by the unfolding events, I began pondering her logic. "I mean, she does make some valid points," I thought in disbelief.

"Look at my pussy," she directed, pointing to her crotch once again.

As I gazed at this gorgeously bottomless woman, who demanded my attention to her pussy, I started to feel a loss of control. Despite my apprehensions about her instability, a powerful desire overwhelmed me. It seemed like I needed to see her pussy more than anything, and it would be foolish to resist. "So, you want me to cum in the bag, in return, you'll show me your pussy?" I questioned.

"Almost. You also have to deliver the bag to Carol to prove that I won the bet," she clarified.

“What does Carol want with my cum?” I asked.

“Nothing, it’s just about proving that you want to see my pussy so badly, that you are willing to do it” She replied.

"I will masturbate for you, but I'm not doing it with a plastic bag," I insisted.

Annoyed, she rolled her eyes and said, "You're not masturbating for my benefit. I gain nothing from watching you. The bag is the essence of the bet. Yes, it's a bit crazy, but that's the point. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for you to witness the vagina of a woman as gorgeous as me. Take it or leave it, but it requires a bit of craziness to see such a quality vagina." She smirked.

She continued with a composed and rational approach, stating, "Listen, I'm sure you've convinced a few  girls to show you their pussies, but that's not what this is about. I can sleep with any guy I want, even if he's married. Men try to buy me cars just to go out with me. So, take it or leave it."

Then, in a teasing and mocking tone, she added, "Oh, how terrible! A gorgeous model is willing to show me her pussy, and I HAVE to pleasure myself while looking at it. What a tough day it must be for you."

I knew that walking away would be a decision I'd regret forever. As I pondered the cost-benefit equation, I found it impossible to concentrate because the mere presence of her pussy under that thong felt overwhelming. Up until that point, only three other women had allowed me to see their vagina’s, and this would be an unforgettable experience to say the least. I desperately wanted to see it, and the consequences or anything else seem to be fading the longer her pussy stared at me.

Growing impatient with my hesitation, she interrupted, "Look, there's no harm in walking away from the best pussy you'll ever see. If you don't want to see it, then leave. Otherwise, lower your pants and start pleasuring yourself. It's your choice, but this is your last opportunity. My pussy is too special to wait on you."

Her rude and mocking remarks failed to register in my mind. I was overwhelmed by hormones and unable to think straight. The desire to see her vagina became a no-brainer, and I finally said, "Fine, deal."

A wicked smile spread across her face as she handed me a plastic bag, saying, "Good. Drop your pants now."

I removed my pants and underwear, realizing I was already aroused from seeing her in that cute pink thong. With one hand, I began masturbating while clutching the bag in the other. Anxiously waiting, I asked, "Can I see it now?"

"I need to make sure you're close to cumming. You don't get to see it until I'm convinced you're about to cum. This isn't a free show. You have no idea how lucky you are to be in the same room as my pussy," she remarked after a moment of consideration. She continued, "Then again, it seems my vagina already has power over you. What would you do if I offered you sex? Would you be willing to go to prison for it?"

She clearly derived pleasure from the fact that I was infatuated with her vagina. Playing along, I begged her, "Please, let me see it. I would do anything for your pussy. I need it desperately. It controls me, and there's nothing I want more in this world."

She grinned widely, observing me as I pleasured myself and pleaded. I displayed looks of desperation, intending to demonstrate how much her vagina meant to me. "It's pathetic to watch you have sex with your hand, trying to fool your body that your hand is a real pussy. Beating your meat in front of me, you are a shameless pathetic boy.”

As I began reaching climax, she noticed and smiled even more. In my rush, I fumbled with the plastic bag getting it around my cock and ready to capture my cum. She then reached down, moved her thong to the side, and exposed her bare skin, revealing the most perfect vagina I had ever seen. The sight of her revealing her pussy to me triggered my orgasm, before I was completely ready with the bag. Overwhelmed by an incredible wave of pleasure, I released into the bag while my eyes fixated on her pussy. Streams of semen flowed through my cock, the warmth splashing into the bag. It felt like the most intense orgasm of my life, it was a truly euphoric experience to release in front of such a beautiful woman.

However, as soon as the last drops of semen emerged from the tip of my cock, a wave of post-orgasmic dread hit me. I suddenly realized that I had ejaculated into a plastic bag and agreed to deliver it to her friend.

Looking at my messy bag, Angela commented, "Wow, my vag really had its way with you."

She let go of her thong, which snapped back into place, covering her pussy once again. She grabbed a towel from her hamper and instructed me to seal the bag and clean the outside. The gravity of the situation began to sink in, and panic started to consume me.

"You're not actually going to make me give this to Carol, right?" I asked.

"Why? What's the problem?" she teased. "This may be embarrassing, disgusting, pathetic, and desperate, but I won't feel sorry for you. No one forced you into this. You agreed that seeing my vagina was worth the trade-off," she shrugged.

"Fine, I'll just give you the four hundred dollars," I reluctantly suggested.

With a fake sympathetic tone, Angela responded, "Oh, honey, I don't even care about the money. Sure, it's nice to get paid for being right, but the real pleasure comes from knowing how much power my vagina holds over men. I'm sorry if that's not nice, but it makes me wet knowing that you would completely humiliate and embarrass yourself just for a few seconds of interaction with my vagina. I picked you because you don’t look completely pathetic, but I wanted to prove that my pussy could make you do the most crazy and pathetic thing imaginable. That's what my pussy is worth—your pride and dignity, which is worth way more than four hundred dollars."

"This is your fault. I told you the price for seeing my pussy was doing something crazy, and you agreed that my pussy was worth it. Or did you think you could lie to me and see my pussy without consequences? I have bad news for you. I have to let you out through the front door with a key, and if I have to carry the bag downstairs for you, you'll have to stand in the living room in front of my friends while I take my time to embarrass and taunt you. It'll be far worse for you if you don't deliver the bag yourself."

Lost in dark thoughts, I stared at the ground, contemplating my terrible choices. Angela interrupted my inner turmoil, saying, "Shall we? It's getting late, and I don't want any of them to go to bed before you deliver it. Come on, you sad little boy, and bring your cum baggie," she spoke to me as if I were a dog.

I followed her down the hallway, and I could hear her friends talking as we approached the stairs. Each step amplified the rush of blood to my head. Her friends burst into laughter as we descended. One of them exclaimed, "Wait, here they come!" My face burned with embarrassment and turned beet red. Unable to look at any of them until I reached Carol, I retrieved the bag from my pocket and said, "Angela wanted me to give you this," as I tried to hand her the bag filled with my semen. The room exploded with screams and laughter. The girls laughed uncontrollably, falling off the couch, while Carol sat frozen in disbelief, unaware that Angela had intended for me to deliver the bag. After a few seconds, I dropped the bag onto the floor and headed towards Angela and the door. Angela unlocked the door, kissed me on the cheek, and said, "That's a good boy."

Walking down the front stairs onto the street, their laughter echoed loudly, reaching the entire neighborhood. Angela's laughter was the loudest. I felt utterly humiliated, the most embarrassed I had ever been in my life. I was also horrified that Carol wasn't aware of the final part of receiving the bag. Seeing her stare up at me in utter disbelief, I cringe to this day thinking of that moment.

As I reflected on Angela's potentially evil or unstable nature, or how unfortunate it is that she derives pleasure from harming others so. However, deep down, I know that I am solely responsible for my own actions. I was just as captivated by her beauty as she was.

Sometimes, I wonder if I am the only one who fell into her trap. Am I the only one who agreed, or who actually came into the bag, or the only one who delivered the bag? It's difficult to believe that other men would be as bold/desperate as I was. I'm certain that people who read this will consider me the most pathetic and desperate man in the world, and perhaps they're right. It might be true. But if I am indeed the epitome of pathetic, it means I am also the only man who granted Angela's vagina such great power. As horrific and traumatic as that experience was, if exerting power over men is what excites her the most… That can only mean that when she lays in bed naked, rubbing her fingers into her perfectly beautiful pussy, she can only be thinking of the man who made her feel the most powerful.

***As unbelievable as this story may sound, it is indeed true. While some of the dialogue and specific details may have become hazy over time, this happened largely as described.