My First Time - Submitting That Is

He dominated her, as she had so easily dominated conversation at dinner. Her thin legs writhed beneath him, teasing him with the utter fact that she could so abruptly escape his grasp; they were, however, dancing only as a tease. She longed for him as he had longed for her. Hungrily, desperately, and unceasingly. Those dark, daring eyes had pierced and tingled the depths of her thighs countless times, and, finally, the two of them were united here in the restrictions of his bedroom. She was captivated by the weight of him, pressing her down, holding her torso so helpless beneath him.

He opened his eyes as he kissed her lips, considering exchanging his rough, uncaring kisses for tenderness. The temptation, however, that had lured him to her for the last few weeks was not a sweet, subtle thing. It was hungry and lustful, just now birthing the slightest twinge of love and deeper connection. His fingers found her thick wrists, and he pinned them down, feeling her actually struggle against him. Suddenly in realization of his actions, he arched his back away from her, ashamed and fearful that he had frightened the girl. In her gray, sparkling eyes was not fear, but, instead, desperation. Thankfully, he thought, he had not terrorized anything but her own desire. Still, he could not continue to kiss, as if devouring her fleshy lips, until he was certain that she was prepared to make this existential plunge with him. He tightened his grip on her wrists, to the point where pain was obviously induced, and the tips of her fingers screamed silently with numbness. Her breathless expression only changed slightly. Her chest, still falling and rising with her heaving breathes, arched a bit sharper, and her eyes, which never left his, drowned completely in an anguishing want, an obvious need. She pulled her hands into fists and pushed against his grip. He realized at that moment, that she longed for the fight. A submissive she was not, but she did have something that he couldn't quite describe. Their lived in her a need for submission, though she could not express or give into the idea of it. He realized then that she needed to push against him, to fight him, ever so gently, to maintain her own sex drive.

He let slack back into his taut spine, bending to kiss at her, but now he ran his tongue and lips along her neck. Those gray, eager eyes fluttered with the flick of his tongue, and her flailing legs tightened together, nearly bound beneath him uncontrollably. There was a moment when he bit her, harder than a nibble, but not threatening to draw blood that she tightened to quickly beneath him that she had stopped breathing altogether. Once again fearing that he had overstepped some unknown bound, he loosened his jaw and replaced his teeth with a falsely healing kiss. The air whirling in her lungs finally found its way out of her quivering lips in the form an anxious, satisfied moan. Smiling and sighing quickly to himself, understanding that he had yet to break her nerve, he bit her again, this time, slightly harder. He pulled her trembling fists together above her head, capturing both of them above her head with one hand, and allowing the other to rush quickly over a breast and past her clothed stomach and thighs to the hemming of her knee, length skirt. This was were he would violate her the way he imagined in fanatical, sickeningly sexual daydreams.

She moaned for him, hummed blissfully behind her pressed teeth. Occasionally, she slipped her mouth open to whimper for him, biting her lip to silence what would undoubtedly become and endless repetition of the same longing whimper. Anticipation was overtaking her as he skidded the tips of his fingers down her body. He seemed so tame and wild at the same time, that she wasn't sure if he was in control of his actions or not, but she oddly trusted him implicitly. She had, in that moment, given herself to him, though one thing unnerved her. As he slid up the bottom of her tight skirt, his hands passed over her left outer thigh. His head, that was tilted down, opposite of hand controlling her wrists, quirked slowly to one side. She realized then that he had discovered a secret that she would have openly warned him of if she hadn't been so lost in erotic ecstasy moments before her back was pressed into the springs of his bed.

He had pulled up that dark skirt to reveal scars that were carved menacingly into the fleshy side of her upper thigh. Most were faint, others were more vibrant, but all were obviously aged and faded. For a moment, he was perplexed. He looked up at her, aware that she would recognize his glitch in movement. The look on her face, for once, did twist to look somewhat fearful, but what he couldn't seem to extract was the nature of that fear. Had he finally crossed a line by touching her masochistic masterpiece, or was she afraid of his judgment. His head swam with questions in mere moments. Surely she had done this to herself, but it seemed so uncharacteristic of the upbeat, sassy, and fearless individual that he had encountered up to this point, that always used sly bitchiness to degrade her fellow conversationalists. So now, both of them breathless, sat for 15 seconds or so, while he processed the situation and the expression contorting continuously on her face. He narrowed the slits of his eyes, having come to a decision.

He kissed at those scars, for only a moments, tickling along the outlines of razor blades and broken glass. She caught her breath, gasping a scared and quick. Then, smoothly, but with little notice, he pulled himself between her legs, forcing them open. She sighed. In that sigh was every reservation she had held since the first time she had slit her own flesh, and she was in that moment twelve once again, replacing the need to bring blood to the surface with the need to have this man penetrate her until she climaxed for him and the glorification of him only. He had positioned himself between her thighs now and glanced down to examine the sex vibrating waves of heat against his unbuttoned blue jeans. He noticed then, that she was panty-less. Thinking very seriously for a moment, he affirmed in his head that he had not removed her underwear and looked up at her questioningly. He freed her hands and placed both of his palms on the outside of either thigh; one of those sweaty palms was still discretely massaging her scarred flesh.

He raised a suggestive eyebrow at her, and through her breaths she smiled, shrugging at the hint in his eyes. While she had not expected the night to end this way, perhaps her disregard for underwear was an insinuation of what she privately anticipated. The seriousness between them broke, for a moment, and they exchanged a chuckle. He had not expected her to be panty-less, and she had not predicted that he would ever had discovered she was without them.

"Slut," he whispered, thinking that he would now descend to make his mouth even with her sex.

"Your slut." Her words were quick and almost without thought, but they interrupted his descent. He gulped and tilted his head upward.

"What did you say?" He asked, almost stuttering. She recognized the change in him immediately but was unable to calculate its origin.

"I said I'm your slut." She was obviously nervous, for the first time fearful that she may have frightened him with hurried assumption of belonging. His face blank, he sat up. Removing his hands from her, he unbuttoned his jeans and extracted the erect bulge from his boxers. Slowly, but with much control and balance, he leaned himself over her, bringing his hips to meet hers and slouching so his head came to just below hers. His hands found their way to her wrists once again, and he pulled them apart to either side of her fanned, mousy brown hair. He positioned himself to where he could easily enter her stinging lips, and he looked up at her.

"Whose slut are you?" He asked, senseless at the moment. She hesitated, the playful mood that had engulfed them before disintegrated like water in the bottom of a heated pan.

"Yours." She spoke slowly and softly, and then he penetrated her. It was at this moment that his head snapped back into place. His mind, that had drifted previously into the animalistic, found its way back into reality. He felt her tense around his pleasure and grew even harder at the shrill, slipping moan she released. The thrust into her brought him even with her face, and he rested his weight on her forearms. He withdrew his shaft and plunged again. The thought of owning her satisfied an instinctual need he hadn't realized until this moment that he had been searching for. Perhaps this is why no relationship had survived the realities of real life, but in this moment, he was complete within her.

"Whose whore are you?" He grunted to her, raising and lowering his hips again.

"Yours-" She answered almost too quickly, she thought, but that unyielding answer had complimented his momentary perfection.

Now he began to make a rhythm, pressing against the depths of her sex and releasing the pressure as he backed away only to force back down into her. He asked her several questions of the same nature, filling in other words. Slut, whore, bitch, skank, anything that he could imagine. He flung word after word to her, and her answer was the same : a tortured, unquestioning "yours." Deeper and deeper he dove, quickening his pace. The words between them became fewer, and he lost his voice in the sheerness of their encounter. He surrendered one wrist and slipped his fingers along her face, wrapping his fingers around her throat. Threatening to deprive her of air, but never cutting off the flow, he squeezed in tortuous tease. He lowered his body by releasing her other wrist, pressing his body against her, resting his chin above her forehead, drenching it in hot, grunting breaths.

Her freed hands began to feel the warmth of circulation, and she strangled her fingers in the cottony roughness of his sheet. She could feel the heat itching away at every inch of her leaden skin. The thickness of his shaft crashed into the lining of her sex, and she felt the pressure build on her g-spot, like air blown into a balloon that was already too full. She leaned her head back to give him access to the fragility of her neck. She smiled to feel him threaten to rob her of air, and nearly squealed when his mouth kissed suddenly at her forehead. Those lips trialed down her face and to her cheeks and finally her neck. He nibbled, subtly, at her. She tossed her head, unraveling the high strung notes in her throat. Climax struck against stomach and sank into her clitoris. Her eyes, that she had held so tightly closed in the last few moments, opened, as if unhinged.

She moaned, breaths becoming more uneven than before. He, aware of her growing pleasure, looked at up at her to observe the orgasm overtake her. Their eyes met, however, and she spoke to him.

"Can I cum for you?' She was obviously desperate, needy, and attempting, with all of her strength, to wait for his permission. Craving his consent, she begged with glossy eyes and the squeezing of her muscles around his heavy shaft. Hearing the desire in her voice, he deepened his strokes into her, abruptly ready to release his own ecstasy.

"Yes, baby, cum for me." Their was not lust nor love in his voice, but, instead, lingered the tone of preparation, as if it was the most certain and satisfying thing in all the world for her to validate him with a heavy, hard, and regretfully sweet orgasm. She did, just that in fact, as soon as the words escaped his lips. Her back, arching to the point of pain, pressed up against her, and he raised his weight off of her to give her room to squirm. It hit her like a hit of salvia and a giggle of insanity. It was, by far, the most excellent feeling that she had ever experienced. Adrenaline fucked the nerves in her brain, senselessly, mimicking how he now threw himself into her. He sat up completely, gripping at her fleshy, tense hips, repeatedly feeding her body more incentive to cum. She was undeniable the most beautiful woman in the world to witness cum on his throbbing sex. She was wild, with no ambition or regret or memory it seemed. Expecting life to begin and end in this moment. She whimpered for her, repeating "yours" over and over in gasping, halting breaths.

As he fed her need, she milked his pleasure. Bearing witness to her orgasm, he was brought to his own, and he filled her quickly. He tried to continue to thrust into her, which he did successfully for a few moments, until his legs trembled and quivered uncontrollably. It was at that moment that he nearly fell over her, catching himself with a strong right arm. His abdominal muscles clenched and released, and his length grew. Her eyes finally rolled back into the proper position in her head, still dizzy from that last drops of sensuality he had blessed her with. She reached a week arm around his neck and pulled up into him. His left hand assisted her chest to his, and they both balanced their, reeling from their pleasure. He groaned, perhaps grunted once or twice, nearly embarrassed at the way his body quivered above her. She was unaware of his shaking as she trembled as well, clinging to him to savor the warmth of his ejaculation overflowing within her. He brought his lips together, forcing them to relax, and breathed heavily through his nose. Finally, her throbbing stopped, and she went limp in his arms. He caught his breath as his orgasm subsided as well, but held tight against her. It wasn't until like his adrenaline had stopped ravaging his veins that he lowered her weak body back onto the mattress. Their was a hint of sweat on her brow, and he wiped it away unthinkingly. Her arm drooped from around his neck, and she slid her thumb lovingly against the length of his jaw line before dropping it with a noiseless thud back to the mattress as well.

She saw him now in a different light. He was no longer the vanilla sexed, smooth talker she could so easily shut down. He had stolen an obvious part of her, that she had set out for the world to claim years ago. His eyes didn't look into her eyes at first, but traced up and down the curves of her body, capturing the moment intensely.

"Thank you." She sighed, without hesitation or forethought. He pulled his eyebrows in, as if confused, and finally let his eyes find hers. Opening his lips for the first time since his orgasm, he permitted a creeping, crooked smile to overtake his face.

"You're welcome." He said, doubtlessly.

"Take me again?" She begged now, suddenly and with reason unknown to her. It seemed some insatiable child was reborn in her. Something she had buried and awoken with a pet cemetery vengeance. She was his for the night, as least for the moment.

He sighed a half laugh, half chuckle. His eyes broke their contest with hers, and his smile grew inside. Then, in mere moments, that smile contorting into some more conniving. He raised a suggestive, menacing eyebrow.

"Whose slut are you?" He reveled in her pause of thought.

"I'm yours." She answered him, under the impression that he would have realized that by now.

"Good." He removed himself from her, gripped her hips harshly, and simply flipped her over...