Running

I slam the door to our apartment so hard that I hear something fall to the ground on the other side. I pause, smiling and even a bit self-satisfied, waiting for the neighbor to come out and pretend to glare at me. He's a single guy who, after three years of living next to us, still can be drawn out by the yelling and stomping coming through the wall. I'm no fool, though- he wouldn't dare complain about the noise. When you and I argue, it often reaches a fever pitch. We fall into a familiar pattern of screaming, cursing and breaking things against the hardwood floor for emphasis, egging each other on until we're both red-faced and panting heavily. More often than not, this energy converts itself to loud, mad fucking amidst shattered pieces of vases or picture frames. This is why we have nothing to fear from the noise: our neighbor likes listening to our fighting turn to frantic moans and growls as we screw our anger away.

The neighbor is out of luck today, however. I am leaving and you are still on the other side of the door, muttering about how irresponsible I am being. I imagine you pacing a hole through the floor, your imposing 6'3'' frame walking back and forth as you stroke your beard in consternation, and I smile. Even though this fight didn't end up like so many others, I still get off on riling you up a bit. And tonight it was so easy.

As I walk to the park near our house, your words are still clear in my mind. "Don't do it tonight. Wait until tomorrow. It's not safe, you'll lose the light," you nearly pleaded with me, taking my hand in your much larger one. I just laughed at your earnestness and laced up my Nikes. A look of displeasure crossed your handsome features then, darkening them and causing me just a second of doubt. "My brother's a cop here, remember? I know the statistics...that park is not safe for a woman alone this time of day." I rolled my eyes, and you growled at me and grabbed my arm as I got up from the table.

"It will be fine," I replied, shaking you off. Your grip tightened around my wrist, your hand easily able to encircle it. I felt a tinge of something stir inside me, and I wondered if you felt it, too. "You're being silly."

"I am not," your voice changed from concern to agitation in seconds. You do not like being called silly, nor do you like me challenging your ideas about what is and isn't safe in this place we live, your hometown. "You are being careless and willful, and I don't know what you're trying to prove." I smiled at the familiar admonishment. When your fingers dug into my arm, I winced a bit, biting my lip as I looked up at you. "I'm not playing around," you said. "Don't do this."

I extracted myself from your grasp and walked to the door, unable to hide the smile that I know has the power to both infuriate you and drive you nuts with desire. "See you in an hour."

"Goddamn it!" you screamed. Then you said my name. "You go, and I'm not going to be able to help you," you warned, and then your voice got very low and husky. "It's almost like you want something bad to happen."

My laughter came out more like a bark. "I'll say hi to the guys down by Sex Offender Lake for you!" I called out as I slammed the door. I was annoyed that you have so little faith in me, and using our little inside joke to mock you was my way of expressing this. The thought that I may be in trouble when I get home filled me again with that familiar twinge of desire mixed with the slightest bit of alarm. This is what you do to me.

At the park now, I zip up my hoodie against the mid-October chill. The sun is already setting; trees cast spooky shadows along the running path and I realize that you were completely right about losing the light. I put my ear buds in, stretching my quads against a large oak and wonder if I should have listened to you. I am all alone on the path, a steady bass thumping in my ear as I start my warm-up jog, and I make the decision to only do four instead of my normal six mile run. Then I can be home to you earlier, and hopefully start to make up for my sarcastic transgression. You weren't wrong. I'll be fine, but it probably wasn't my best idea to come here now.

After the warm-up song ends, I switch into higher gear and fill my lungs with the crisp autumn air. I don't see a single fellow jogger or even a person walking his dog in the first mile, which I find odd. It's eerily quiet, no real distractions, and I'm making fantastic time. But the sun is setting rapidly behind the horizon, must faster than I had anticipated, and it's getting colder and darker. I increase my pace even more, my chest rising and falling as my muscles strain to meet my demand, dark red hair swinging behind me in the chill. I'm running faster than I ever have on this route, and I'm feeling powerful—much larger and stronger than my 5'5'', petite self.

I inhale deeply, preparing to enter the next mile, when I feel a hand grab my shoulder from behind. I freeze, all the nerves in my body suddenly standing up and screaming at once, my breath catching as I try to wriggle from the insistent grasp. Suddenly, my right ear bud is ripped from my ear and there are lips pressed against me. I feel warm breath on the back of my exposed neck and I tremble, realizing with each passing second that I am in real danger, completely alone and small in this dark space. Your prophetic words appear suddenly in my mind, sounding in this horrible moment like a curse.

It's almost like you want something bad to happen.

I open my mouth to scream, still struggling to extricate myself, but before a sound forms in my throat, another hand, large and strong, covers my lips. "You're coming with me," mumbles the voice, gruff and low. I'm pushed into a clearing a few feet away from the jogging path. I hear twigs snapping and leaves rustling under our feet, some birds squawking overhead, and nothing else. Nobody is coming to save me from whatever this is. An image of you floats before my eyes. You're holding my gaze and begging me not to leave. You're covering my body with your body, holding me against you and rocking me back and forth, you're kissing my hair and telling me to listen. I feel tears welling up inside me, hating myself for not trusting you.

And then, suddenly, the hands are spinning me around by my shoulders, and I'm facing my attacker.

"Who should have listened when I said it wasn't safe out here?" you mutter, your eyes wide.

I cry out, nearly falling to my knees in relief. How did I not know those were your massive hands on me, or that it was your voice in my ear? Looking at you here in this cold, wild place, I realize that it's because you willed it this way. You wanted to frighten me into seeing your point and somehow got my subconscious senses to play along. This is not an unfamiliar dynamic for us; you are frequently burrowing into my psyche in ways that make me feel in turns loved and somewhat violated. Now I feel a mixture of both, and that notion causes a warmth to spread between my legs.

"Well?" you grin. "What do you have to say for yourself, little girl?"

"You—" I stammer, averting your gaze. If it wasn't so dark, you'd see my pale skin flush at the mention of that particular moniker. This is, of course, exactly what you want.

You laugh, that loud, throaty laugh that caught my attention all those years ago and I want to run up to you, jump in your strong arms and bite you on your earlobe for scaring me, no matter how well-intentioned it was. I start to make my move, but you hold me back by the shoulders, fixing me with a look that I can tell means this lesson is far from over.

"No, no. You don't get to touch me. You didn't listen, and little girls who don't listen don't get to call the shots now, do they?" You push my shoulders down until I'm sitting on the chilly ground. "Take your pants off."

"But—it's so cold," I protest, knowing I'm not doing myself any favors. Maybe I'm still a little perturbed that you hatched this plot to scare me straight. Whatever the reason, this slight disobedience makes me shiver. I want what's coming next.

"Are you really going to question me now?" Your voice lowers a full octave and I know I shouldn't push my luck. I tuck my fingers inside my running pants and slide them down my hips, past my shoes. The cool air hits the bare flesh of my thighs and I shake a bit, watching goose bumps form up and down my shapely calves. I look at you and bite my lip.

"That's my good little girl," you coo, placing one hand on my right leg and sliding it upward. Your touch is so warm that I want to feel it everywhere, I want to feel the weight of you on me, your skin on my skin. I start to reach for you and you smack my hand away. "What did I just say?" You growl. "You don't get to touch. That's the last time I'm going to say it. Do you understand?"

I nod, my lips forming an involuntarily pout. Your hand is steadily sliding towards the inside of my thigh, your nails digging into my skin with the slightest of pressure. The heat from your hand is already making me light-headed, and I can feel myself getting ready for you. Soon, you will be able to feel it too.

"That's right. I know it's cold," you whisper, the tenderness in your voice not matching up with the hand that is roughly instigating itself into my panties. "But you should have thought about that before, huh? Before you decided to be a willful little slut." A moan escapes my lips as I feel you enter me first with one long, thick finger and then two. One glance at your face and I know where all this is leading, what you want from me and what I'll be required to give. I think briefly of somebody else encountering us here, and a chill runs up my back. Maybe I'd like that.

You smile widely, your fingers still pushing in and out of me, getting warmer and wetter with my juices. As though you're reading my mind, you say my name, and then: "If only you had listened, we could be doing this in our warm bed right now. But, no. You wanted to be bad." You slide a third finger in, a bit painfully at first, to prove your point. My pussy responds by tightening around them, clamping down, nearly challenging you. "Sluts who don't listen end up half-naked and exposed, where anybody can just pass through and see them...isn't that right?"

I nod my ascent and shift my weight so that your fingers are touching the deepest point in me, and slowly start to ride up and down on them, keeping my eyes on your eyes. Something turns dark in them and in an instant, you retract your hand from between my legs and smack me, hard, on my right ass cheek. The air hits the damp spot they make and I shiver.

"You do that again and you'll be very sorry, slut." You grunt, pinching the flesh of my ass where you smacked it. "Disobedient girls don't call the shots. Disobedient girls learn their lessons at my pace, not theirs." I meet your gaze; you are grinning and there is that familiar glint reflecting in your irises that I love so much. "You're my girl. You like being mine, right?" Your hand gravitates towards my right breast, cupping it gently.

"Uh huh," I respond, my nipple springing to life at your touch.

"Then my girl needs to listen when I tell her what's safe and what's not." You pinch my nipple between your thumb and index finger like some kind of physical punctuation. I gasp, nodding and looking away so you can't see me wince.

Your hand flies up to my chin, straightening me out. "Look at me," you say. "You were scared when you got grabbed, weren't you?"

I shake my head yes. Your hand slides from my face to my hair, clutching a thick lock in your fist before you slowly pull back. You are so close that it physically hurts me not to touch you, but I've been warned. Your lips are at my ear again. "You know it could have been much, much worse," you mumble. Your teeth graze my earlobe as your fingers hold my head back even further. I know I was terrified a few minutes ago, but now all I can think about is your mouth on me, your tongue licking the spot where my neck meets my shoulder. As if on cue, you bite that same place, and pain radiates throughout my body.

"It's not over yet," you say, and with one fluid motion, you're lifting my ass off the ground, removing your coat, and sliding it underneath me. I remember to breathe, but just barely. The sun has completely disappeared; every noise I hear could be a potential passer-by or worse. I thought we would be heading home by now, my skin sufficiently chastised by the cold and your rough fingers.

"You're uncomfortable, aren't you?" It's not a question, really. This is all your doing, and after years of being together like this, you know the exact effect you have on my body—it's a mere observation. You kiss me finally, long and languid and sweet. I melt into you, forgetting myself and reaching for your face, taking it in my hands. In a second, my wrists are above my head, clasped easily in your grasp, knocking me onto my back with more than a little force.

"Strike three," you laugh. My nails dig into the damp earth as your tongue runs slowly from my earlobe, down my neck, over my panting chest, pausing briefly at my nipple to flick it. I moan a bit too loudly and am convinced I hear something or somebody stirring on the path a few feet away. I don't care, and neither do you. Your tongue continues its descent over my belly and rests finally on the inside of my right thigh. I shudder. This is what I wanted tonight underneath the shower, again in our big, comfy bed, but I'll take it here. In the dark, in the bitter air, with a possible audience. As if it's even up to me.

"I wonder—" you start, ending with a bite that I know will leave a mark. I yelp and begin to wriggle a bit. You answer by pulling my panties off deftly, then pushing my thighs apart and holding them down, hard, harder, until movement is impossible. "That's what I thought. After all this, you're still fighting me." You say my name. I look down at you, your face between my legs, slightly turned, widely smiling.

"I think we may have company." I can't tell in this moment if you are teasing me or if there is a real and present threat, but before I can sort it out, your tongue is attacking my clit. I twitch and shake under your grasp as you roll your tongue up and down, in circles, around the edges, lightly biting me and causing me to cry out as though intoxicated. I can feel the air hitting my wet pussy, getting wetter by the second, leaving traces of myself on your lips, down your chin, in your beard. You lap me up in that manner that always leaves me breathless, proving how much you love to taste me. "Don't worry, I'm not stopping," you whisper, sliding two massive fingers inside me. "It would serve you right, wouldn't it? That the willful little girl learns her lesson in front of strangers?"

You wiggle yourself deep inside me, your tongue still flicking and sucking and fucking my clit and I come, much too loudly, much too violently. I didn't think it was possible given all the external factors of the situation, but I squirt my juices all over your face, your jacket, in waves. You drink me, making small, appreciative noises as my whole body shakes underneath you. "That's my girl," you whisper, your voice genuinely tender as you circle my moist lips with your fingers, causing aftershocks. You bring your face close to mine then, placing the fingers that are drenched in me to my lips. "You know what to do."

I taste salty-sweet on your skin, and under your intent gaze, I clean your fingers completely, a smile forming because I know how much this pleases you. I am prepared to surrender to whatever it is you want, as long as it involves the hard, bulging cock that I feel straining against my leg. You grunt, not unkindly, when I run my hand along it.

"Nuh uh. Not yet." You kiss me again, gently sucking on my tongue and biting my bottom lip. I taste and smell myself on you, and I swear I can feel you pulsate through your pants, signaling your approval. "When we're home. I don't want to be naked out here. It's way too cold!" Your laugh rings out, echoing in the trees, and it's infectious. I find my panties, slip them into my hoodie pocket, and quickly slide my pants on, happy for the warmth. You take my hand and lead me out of the clearing towards the car, jacking up the heat as soon as you turn the ignition. I sidle up next to you and put my head on your shoulder.

"Are you going to jog in the park after five again?" you ask, a mischievous grin breaking out all over your face.

I giggle. "Uh, no." I can't wait to get you home. It's amazing to me that after all this time, you can still surprise me, and in turn, make me surprise myself. I want to give this back to you by letting you fill me up completely, let you own my body for the night.

"That's my good little girl," you mumble into my ear, and then you kiss my forehead. I can't help it; I instinctively reach between your legs and grab you, hard as stone.

When you say my name, your voice breaks hoarsely in a way that could be an invitation- or a warning. Either way, I am yours.