Let us begin with a disclaimer that the content displayed on this page is of an adult nature and is not suitable for children under the age of 17. It may also not be suitable for adults with fragile sensibilities or for adults who are easily scandalized.
Now that we've gotten that out of the way...
I wrote the following in response to a writing prompt (I do that a lot). It's had no permutations since it's inception. And if you start wondering at the end... I don't know what these two are arguing about.
Untitled Angry Sex
Nita heard the front door open and the sound of Andreas stomping snow off his boots. Throwing her blouse in the corner, she jumped into bed with her skirt still on, pulled the covers over her head, and pretended to be asleep. The clatter of keys on the credenza and quiet footfalls on the carpet told her that Andreas was headed to the bedroom. The door opened. Lights came on. And Nita kept still under the covers.
He yanked the covers off. Eyes, darting from her skirt to her face, glared down at her. “Do you want to repeat what you said on the phone?” Even pissed-off, the Dominican accent turned her on.
Acutely aware of the taut nipples stretching her sheer bra, she sat up. His gaze dropped to her chest, but didn't linger there. He was royally pissed off. Well, damn it, so was she.
But she kept cool and reached for the covers. “I told you to go fuck yourself.”
“That’s real mature.”
She lay back down, rolled over, and turned her back on him. “You don’t want to do this tonight.”
“I think I do.” Again, he snatched the covers off.
Seething, she hopped out of bed and faced him, raising herself onto her toes until she was eye to eye with him. “You want to go there, muchacho? Fine. We can go there.” Shoving past him, she walked out the door.
“¿A dónde vas?” his irritated voice called from the bedroom.
“To the kitchen. I need a drink.” She was still in the eye of the hurricane, that few moments of perfect calm before she exploded into a gale of female fury. He wanted a fight? She'd give him a goddamned fight. But first... tequila.
She was opening a cabinet when he approached from behind. He rested his hands on the counter to either side of her and sighed.
“I don’t want to fight, dulcita.”
So she was his ‘sweetie’ again? Well, it was too late for that shit. She slammed the cabinet door and faced him, then tried to squeeze past. Grabbing her by the flimsy bra front, he fixed her to the spot. The fingers wedged between her breasts, made already hard nipples stiffen even more. But worse, those bedroom eyes staring into hers, the beautiful lips so close to hers, and that damned wavy hair were making her wet.
“¡Estás comportándo como un cabron!” Her Spanish was limited, but she knew plenty of insults.
“No. This is acting like an asshole.” His fingers closed tighter around the front of her bra, He tugged. A loud rip, and the back clasp snapped open. He yanked the bra away entirely.
Nita looked down at her naked breasts, at the torn bra in his hand, then at his defiant face. “¡Hijo de puta!”
The name-calling didn't phase him. He tossed the ruined bra onto the counter and reached under her skirt. His hand slid into her panties. A finger penetrated her. She stifled a moan, but, gasping, grabbed his shoulders when he put in another finger and jabbed them both deeper. He cupped a breast, bringing it to his mouth. The moan eased past her clenched teeth. Her head dropped back, eyes closed, as his tongue made a circuit around and over her nipple. Closing his teeth on the sensitive nub of flesh, he bit down. And it was not a gentle nip.
“Oh, you want to play rough?” She sank her hands into his thick mass of brown hair and jerked his head off her breast.
He made a growling sound, and she got hotter, wetter. Her body tingled all over. His hand moved from her breast to her neck. Cupping her chin, Andreas turned her head to the side and kissed her neck. Ravenous tongue and teeth trailed up and down the column of her throat, while he stroked her g-spot. What were they fighting over? It didn't matter. Or did it? She couldn't think past the pressure building inside her.
The orgasm hit like a bolt of lightning. ¡Dios mío! Her knees buckled. Crying out her ecstasy, she let go of his hair and clutched the counter to steady herself.
With a sardonic smile, Andreas pulled his fingers out, spun her around, and bent her over the counter. The feel of cold laminate against her nipples pushed her arousal further. It sent her body into tiny post-orgasmic quakes. The sound of him unbuckling his belt reached her ears, then his tip was at her opening. She gave a satisfied sigh and closed her eyes. She inhaled. And choked on the exhale as he rammed into her.
Her cheek was plastered to the countertop, muffling her words. "That hurt!" But it was a delicious pain. In spite of herself, she backed into him to take all of it.
One of his hands was in the arch of her back and the other glided up her body, exciting every nerve as it passed. He moved her hair and kissed the back of her neck, whispered sweet Spanish words into her ear, and caressed her lips with fingers still slick with her juices. He slipped one into her mouth, and groaned when she closed her lips on it. Wrapping her tongue around his finger, Nita tasted the flavor that was distinctly hers. He groaned again. The sound was madly erotic, and she sucked hungrily. Until she remembered what he had done to her nipple.
She clamped her down.
“Ow!”He jerked both appendages out of both her orifices. “Goddammit! You really want to go there?” He turned her to face him, picked her up, and lowered her to the kitchen floor. Roughly, he plunged back inside.
Grabbing his shirtfront, she tore it open, popping every button. She pulled him on top of her, slid her hands around his back and dug long nails into his flesh. He grunted, and rammed harder into her, goosebumps prickling the skin of his shoulders and arms. Her tongue coursed over his collarbone, her legs closed over his hips.
Gushing wet and squirting with each stroke, she clung to him, gyrated beneath him in rhythm with every thrust. A low groan rumbled in his throat; he was reaching climax. They held tight to each other, and Nita felt her own pressure building. As soon as his heat flooded her, she'd come again. It always happened that way and the second release was always sweeter.
With a loud moan, Andreas stiffened. Nita pressed her mouth to his, their tongues twining. Soon. Soon that burst of warmth would pour into her. She crooned, closed her eyes, climbed to a crescendo... And he tore himself out of her arms.
The sudden emptiness between her legs was like a blast of cold air. As he came on her belly, Nita’s fire fizzled. There was no explosion, no release. Too annoyed to think straight, she looked at her man and caught the wicked glint in his eyes.
That son of a bitch. Now she'd ache for him all night long.
“Damn it, Andreas!”
Smirking, he got to his feet, repackaged, and zipped up his trousers. “Yeah. I went there.”
I felt compelled to share this. It is an excerpt from a novella that I'm working on. The story has no title yet and is my first foray into light BDSM. Mostly bondage, I think. The female character in this story has a potty-mouth, so she feels no compunction to soften her terminology. Thus, this scene is considerably more 'raw' than the previous one I posted. It's only about 900 words. Enjoy it anyway. ;)
“Aha!” he said.
I heard the whir of machinery, then my arms, already over my head, began to stretch upwards.
“So you found the pulley switch,” I said, with as much nonchalance as I could muster.
“That’s not all I found, Ms. Jackson.”
He stopped the pulley and my arms stopped rising, but he had raised the hook so high that I was standing on my toes. I shrieked when he brought the paddle down on my bare backside.
“That hurt, you son of a bitch.” But it didn’t really. “Get this fucking blindfold off me.”
I jerked my handcuffed arms, trying to hoist myself off the hook. I might have managed if I weren’t barefoot, but Hank liked me this way—barefoot, nude, and totally helpless. He was probably living out some antebellum slavery fantasy.
“You really aren’t very submissive, are you?” He was in front of me now. I could feel his nearness like the pull of a magnet.
“I’m not submissive at all, Neanderthal,” I retorted.
“Well, Neda, we can’t both be dominant.”
For a man who had never played this game, he sure was catching on quickly. And for the life of me, I couldn’t fathom why I had let him cuff me that first time. I was always dominant. In my professional life, my private life, the bedroom. Especially in the bedroom. What in the hell was I thinking? If any other guy had tried to cuff me, I’d have handed him his walking papers on the spot. Hell, no other guy would have dared.
“What’s this?” he asked.
I should never have allowed him into The Den.
“A satin whip?” He brought it down on my thighs. “Oh, I see.”
“You see what? What are you...?” Oh ye gods! I shuddered at the soft vibration rising up my left thigh.
“A two-fer. Clever. What other naughty little gadgets do you have in here?” He didn’t go looking. Instead, he stroked my cleft with the vibrating handle of the whip.
I tried not to show my arousal, but my body didn’t care what my head wanted. My breathing grew heavy and a little noisy, as I suppressed the moans crowding my throat. Then I closed my teeth on my lower lip, trying to force back the gasp of disappointment when the touch of the vibrator fell away from me.
“Mmmm. You are tasty,” he said, and I could see him in my mind’s eye, licking the whip’s handle. “And so inviting.” He ran his tongue over my nipple.
He touched the inside of my thigh. Just his fingertips. A gentle caress, as his mouth moved from my breast, lips dropping lower and lower. His touch was an aphrodisiac and, despite my best efforts, a moan escaped.
“Is this the spot?” he asked, still caressing the insides of my thighs.
I said nothing, but I didn’t need to. He had already seen my reaction when he touched the vibrator to the sensitive skin of my inner thigh. He was seeing my reaction now.
“You’re quivering,” he said.
Like hell, I wanted to say, but didn’t trust my voice. So, again, I said nothing. Then came the touch of his lips, and I couldn’t hold back. One by one, the moans tumbled free in a torrent of pleasure. His mouth was on one thigh, his fingers caressed the other, and the vibrating whip settled into my wet opening. My breath caught, as the vibrator slid inside me and began to move in slow strokes.
With both hands, I grabbed the hook above my head and braced myself against the onslaught of sensation crashing down over my body. It was just as well, because Hank’s touch left me weak in the knees, rocked me back and forth as shockwaves of ecstasy barreled through me. He nibbled my thigh then closed his mouth on my clit.
He sucked my swollen pearl, simultaneously fucking my pussy with the whip’s handle. And it was me vibrating now, shuddering and shuddering as he drove my body to a frenzy.
Suddenly, he pulled the vibrator out and let it drop to the hardwood floor, where it buzzed in angry protest. I was empty, but not for long. His tongue found my opening, slipped inside to lap hungrily. Then fingers. They penetrated my wetness and caressed in search of the g-spot they would never find. Because I didn’t have one. Not one that worked. Not one that...
I let out a long whimper.
“Knew I’d find it,” he muttered from between my legs.
He stroked with gentle pressure, his tongue in and out of me, licking my clit, driving me insane. Each time he adjusted his fingers then resumed his caress, the touch sent a jolt of pleasure blasting through me like electricity.
“Oh God,” I said, my arms tensely clinging to the hook. “Oh God.” The orgasm exploded from my center in rippling waves. “Oh God!” I fought to control the tremors spreading into my fingers, but lost my grip on the hook. Dangling helplessly, I silently cursed myself and prayed Hank didn’t realize how much control he truly had over me.
He got to his feet and put an arm around my waist. I was trembling so much that it was difficult to lock my legs around him. But I managed it, and sighed as he brought me down onto his swollen cock.
I actually wrote this one in response to a writing challenge that required we incorporate the words rock, paper, and scissors into an erotic scene. This is a very mild scene (I've definitely done steamier), but I'm not yet sure how steamy I want to make this page.
“Let’s try again.” He pressed a button on the remote.
The stereo came on, a familiar tune wafted from the speakers. Love has truly been good to me...
“Remember?” He looked across the table at me with his sleepy eyes. They were his most prominent feature; made him look perpetually high. It used to turn me on. As Luther crooned in the background, I felt some of that old tingle.
My husband crooned along with the balladeer. “And it’s so amazing, amazing. I could stay forever, forever.” I’d forgotten how beautiful his singing voice was. He got up and came around the table, still singing. “I will leave you never, never. Yes we’ve got amazing love.” He dropped to one knee. “Let’s try again.”
Tears trickled from my eyes before I realized they were there. “What happened to us?”
“I don’t know, but I’ll follow you to the moon and sky above.”
It wasn’t helping. The singing. It just made me ache more. We were so in love once. And it was so amazing. Now, there was nothing. So why was I crying?
“Just sign the damned papers,” I said.
“Not without trying. We never even tried.”
“And I was too stupid to see how unhappy you were. Give me another chance, and I’ll make things the way they should be.”
I shoved down the rock in my throat. “It’s too late.”
“Don’t say that.”
“It’s too late.”
I couldn’t get past all the times that I needed him and he wasn’t there. Right in the house with me, but not there. How many times did I beg him to just sit and watch a movie with me?
“I’m not watching that shit,” he used to say. No matter what it was. “I’m not watching that shit.”
No matter how I tried to tell him or even show him that he hurt me, he saw only nagging or thought I was being overly emotional. What did he call me? Ultra-sensitive. He treated me like a belonging, like some old, comfortable shoe. Something he could discard, forget about, but then put on whenever the mood struck.
The song ended. By then, tears were streaming down my face. He wiped them away with his fingers.
“I’m sorry, baby. I’ve been the worst husband, the worst friend. If I could go back and fix it, I would. I know that’s no consolation, but I promise, if you give me the chance, I will be the man you need me to be.”
He dropped his head onto my lap. For the first time ever, I heard him weep. Quiet sobs that shook his shoulders. My heart broke. I didn’t think it could. I thought it had died a year ago—about the same time we stopped having sex. I lowered my head to his and put my arms around him.
“I love you,” he said in a small, quavering voice. “If you still love me, even a little, give me a chance. I promise, you will be the queen you should have always been.” He looked up at me, moisture glistening in his eyes.
Before I could respond, he grabbed my head with both hands and pulled my face down to his. The kiss was desperate, hungry, full of the passion he had denied me through most of our marriage. It poured over me like a flood, crowding my senses. I slid to the ground with him, my arms around his neck. He deepened the kiss, his tongue finding mine, exploring my mouth with intense fervor.
His hands moved to my buttons. He opened my blouse, while I tugged his shirt over his head. My bra unsnapped and he pulled it off. Our mouths were still tightly pressed to one another, our tongues reacquainting themselves with once-familiar territory. His hands were on my zipper, then mine on his. We unzipped in unison.
My skirt slid off me, but we had to pull apart for him to kick off his shoes and rid himself of his jeans. He reached for the stereo’s remote and pushed some buttons. The song started back up. Love has truly been good to me... He pulled me into his arms and we were kissing again, our hands exploring one another’s bodies. His thumbs crossed my nipples, sending tiny pulses of pleasure through me, as I reached into his boxers to touch that part of him I had missed for so long. Groaning, he lowered me to the ground and slid my panties off in one fluid motion.
The song ended again, but it started right back up. Set to repeat.
“I hope you know, I’d gladly go. Anywhere you take me.”
I smiled. Hearing him sing brought back a rush of good memories. There were good times mingled with those bad ones. I’d simply forgotten them. I remembered now. That time we made love in a rowboat, and flipped it. Or that time we fucked on a frozen park bench. I laughed aloud.
“What’s funny?” he asked, pulling off the rest of his clothing.
Taking his face between my palms, I brought his lips to mine. Oh yes. His were the most amazing kisses. How could I have forgotten that? He pressed into me. I shuddered at the feel of him entering and moaned in the ecstasy of his touch. Raising my hips to meet his, I knew how much I loved this man. Even now. Especially now.
He made love to me on the floor. He was gentle, his touch tender, his thrusts deep, slow, long... amazing. And he sang to me. Amidst grunts and moans, he whispered the words of the song in my ear as we writhed together on the floor.
“Got to tell you how you thrill me. I’m happy as I can be.”
Our pace quickened. He drove deeper, harder, while I clutched his neck, his back, his hair, my thighs pressed against his sides. Oh god! How could I have forgotten the way it felt when he held me like this? I trembled under him, at the pleasure he gave me when he kissed my neck, licked my collarbone, my breast, my nipple. At the pleasure of his voice, laden with sex, still whispering.
“Truly it’s amazing, amazing. Love brought us together, together. I will leave you never, never. Yes, we’ve got amazing love.”
“Baby, I’m coming.” I said. I think I said. Not sure if I spoke at all.
I ran my hands down his hard back, over his tight ass. Goosebumps prickled his skin and he groaned. His shudder was almost violent, rocking me beneath him. His arms came around me, pulling me close and he shuddered again, sending a quake straight to my core. I cried out as I came, cried out as he moaned on top of me, giving himself up to passion and spilling into me.
We looked at each other. Him with his sleepy brown eyes. They did turn me on. Rather than a pen, maybe we needed scissors. To shred those fucking papers.
He sang: “It’s so amazing to be loved. I’d follow you to the moon and the sky above.”