Karen

You know he'll win, why are you fighting? The voice inside my head said. Yes, I know it. I want him to take me. I want to surrender. Why am I resisting?

"Eric, please," I begged, my tear filled eyes on him.

"Say it!" he demanded.

"I'm Eric's hot, willing woman," I said. Each syllable caught in my throat like gravel. I forced myself to form the words and utter them, my voice constricted as if bound in steel. I wanted to scream this is wrong. Instead, I repeated my mantra. I knew I would live by it. That thought terrified and excited me.

The tip of the whip moved into my sight. I froze, not breathing, as it traced the outline of my nipple plainly visible through my blouse. I jerked in reflex at the thought of that rod striking me on such a tender spot.

"Keep saying it."

"I'm Eric's hot, willing woman."

I repeated my mantra again and again, but my eyes never left the whip resting against my nipple. I'd said my mantra maybe twenty times, when the tip of the whip slowly pulled back a few inches from my nipple. It flicked against me. The flick of the whip on my erect and tender nipple was a match, creating a bright and white but short flame. It lit a fuse which sizzled down my body to ignite the firecracker nestled between my legs. My thighs and back tightened. My breasts were pushed toward him as my back arched. I shuddered. A groan escaped me. Through my unfocused eyes, I could see his knowing smile.

"Say it," he whispered gently as his eyes shone at me.

I said it, the words coming easier this time. Again I said it, and again. I repeated it until it was a natural to say those words as calling my children's names.

Eric took my head in his two giant hands. His thumbs wiped the sweat from my forehead. The rhythm of my voice, my hypnotic chanting, never wavered as I said my mantra over and over. With his thumbs, he closed my eyes. All was dark as I continued chanting. I felt him stand, heard the rustle of his undressing, felt his movement to kneel behind me.

Slowly. He did everything so excruciatingly slowly. He moved my hair from my neck. I felt his lips at my nape. Tingles shot through me. The top button of my blouse moved. The air, warmed by the heater but so much cooler than my skin, chilled me where my blouse was opened. Again, his lips on my spine. Again, tingles.

Coolness of the air. The heat of his lips, of his hands, as they released another button. The greatest heat was between my legs. It was a swamp of wetness and heat. I felt that moisture on my thighs.

Slowly. Another button. Another tantalizing touch of his hands, his lips.

I don't remember leaping off the precipice, but I knew I was in the air falling toward him. I'd surrendered.

He made me wait, torturing me by the slow removal of my blouse as his lips and hands and the very air itself teased and caressed my naked back. When he pushed the blouse over my shoulder and it floated toward the floor, I ached for relief, ached to have his hands on my breasts, ached to have him in me. I felt each finger tip slide from back to front across my rib cage to close firmly on my breasts, to feel their softness and tweak my diamond hard nipples. I moaned.

He whispered in my ear, "Stop and keep your eyes closed."

My heart pounded in my throat as he gently lifted me into the air. I extended my legs and stood. His hands were on my skirt. The cool air rushed over me when the skirt fell away. He slipped my panties down and pulled them off my feet. I was naked before him.

"Mantra," he whispered.

Smoothly, easily, without effort and with desire, I said, "I'm Eric's hot, willing woman."

The words flowed from me. They were true. I was his. I was burning with heat. I desperately wanted him to take me.

How I longed to see his face, see his reaction to my nakedness, to the hot and willing body which belonged to him. But, obediently, my eyes were closed. He knelt behind me as I remained standing. His touch, his lips were hot on my skin, his hands insistent as they traversed the plains between my legs, sliding on the lubricant my desire had excreted. I was ready, so very ready, yet he caressed me further. A groan escaped my lips as his lips traced the tendon down the back of my leg.

"Oh, God, yes!" I moaned as his two long, strong fingers plumed my depths and a thumb found my clitoris. The strongest orgasm I could remember exploded in me. I collapsed on him, softly landing in his arms. He rolled me on my back.

He took me quickly, my legs bent and pushed against my breasts, pounding into me in a carnal rhythm. The power of my explosions was beyond my experience, even beyond my fantasies, as he brought me pleasures undreamed of. There on a Sunday in my office, on a blue mat slickened by our sweat, he introduced me to the power of our sexuality. I orgasmed until I was too weak to raise my head.

He hadn't cum when he pulled out of me. His strong hands moved me as he wished. His cock touched my lips. Without thinking, I took him there, tasting my own sweet juices on him. Like a child on its mother's breast, I sucked him as I drifted in and out of consciousness.

Something very cold fell on my cooling, but still hot, body. Startled, I squirmed to get away. His hand was tangled in my hair. His cock was in my mouth. My head was anchored against him. I squealed against his cock as he ran an ice cube down my spine. He laughed when he released me. I twisted away to look at him. His eyes were tender, twinkling. A broad smile covered his face.

"Back to the land of the living?" he asked with a sweet softness in his voice. I blushed and smiled back at him.

"Refreshments?"

He offered me a glass of juice and a donut. I ate and drank as I knelt as his feet with my legs spread. Deliberately, his eyes moved from mine to traverse down my body. His eyes were like fingers. I could feel their touch on me, feel their caress. My breasts tingled when they lingered there. I felt them tracing down my stomach. I twitched between my legs from the heat they created.

Refreshments finished, the guided me to the position he wanted. I knelt on all fours. My legs were spread wantonly, but not to his satisfaction. He spread me wider. My breasts swung freely under me.

"Mantra," he said softly.

"I'm Eric's hot, willing woman," I answered.

His hand touched my leg. I groaned. After a lifetime of small, infrequent orgasms, I'd experienced the greatest ones ever only minutes ago. How could it be?

I wanted more. I wanted him to fuck me until our fucking comprised my entire reality. This is wrong, the voice inside my head said. Be quiet, I told it.

His hands traced my tendons. They slipped over my skin which was again slick with sweat. I felt his fingers at the back of my left knee as he gently stroked there.

"Eric, please." My voice caught.

"Mantra," he replied.

"I'm Eric's hot, willing woman."

His fingers leisurely caressed my leg and slipped over my ass. One finger traced down the crack until it rested on the opening. I felt it quiver as he tested it and withdrew. My voice continued as his hands kneaded my ass cheeks and tantalized my stomach and legs.

"Stop," he said as his hands left my body.

"Karen, I want you to be more vocal. When we make love, you're a quiet as a little mouse. I want to hear from you. Share your joy, your passion. Talk. Talk when I touch you, when I fuck you."

"Yes, Eric," I replied.

"Not only do I want to hear screams of passion from you, I want you to talk freely about your feelings."

"Yes, Eric."

My voice was soft and sexy, making the saying of his name a caress of us both. He heard it as I did. He gently stroked my face. Like a kitten, I pushed my head against his hand.

"Where do you want me to touch you?" he asked.

"Between my legs."

"That's your pussy. Say it. Say 'pussy'."

"Pussy."

"What do you want?"

"Stroke my pussy, Eric. Oh. Oh. Yes. Like that. No. Don't stop. Please."

"What are you?"

"I'm your hot, willing woman. Please take me again."

My words reverberated in my head. I'd said it voluntarily. I said what I'd been denying. Tears moistened my cheeks. The admission was a weight lifted from me. A weight of sexual denial. I sobbed tears of joy. Oh, god, it felt so good! Free of the weight of denial. Free from self- imposed restraints on my sexuality. Free to be his. But you're not free. You're George's wife, the voice said. No, I'm Eric's hot, willing woman. I'm his, I told the voice.

Eric pulled me into his arms. Crying, I curled up in his lap as he whispered sweet nothings in my ear and comforted me. He was tender and loving. It felt good to be there, surrounded by him, held against the strength of his body. He kissed me. Not a controlling, demanding kiss, it was soft and gentle. His hands caressed me.

I looked up into his eyes.

"What are you? Tell me again."

"I'm yours, Eric. I'm your hot, willing woman. Please make love to me."

"Make love?"

He was teasing me. Yes, I wanted him to make love to me, to possess me sweetly and tenderly. Later. Now I wanted him to fuck me, to overpower me, to pin me against the floor with his cock.

"Fuck me," I whispered. "Fuck me long and hard. Fuck your woman until she passes out."

I turned beet red and goose bumps popped out all over me. My own shyness and modesty had always prevented me from using dirty words like fuck. Those words weren't dirty now. They were good words, words which expressed how I felt about a man.

Eric smiled as he said, "Get on all fours again, Karen."

As I took the position he wanted, I began to shake in eager anticipation of what we were doing, of his commanding me, of my own willing surrender. Wetness again oozed from between my legs. Sweat formed on my skin.

"Talk to me," he said. His voice was soft but firm. Very firm. "Tell me where my hands are, what they're doing to you, how you feel."

"Yes, Eric. No. Don't stop."

"Stop what?"

"Eric, please."

"Talk to me."

"Stroke my breasts again."

"How?"

"Oh. Like that. Your fingers sliding down. Pulling my nipples. Squeezing them."

"You like that?"

"Yes. Please."

"And this?"

"Yes."

"Be still."

"I can't be still. Your hand. On my leg."

"What do you want?"

"Move it. No. Not like that. Higher. More. Eric, why are you torturing me?"

"Is this torture?"

"Yes. Oh god. Don't stop!"

"Stop what? Tell me."

"My . . . my pussy. Stroke my pussy. And my breasts. Pull my nipples. Oh, yes."

"You like that?"

"Yes. Oh, yes."

"And this? Do you want me there?"

"Yes. There too. I want you everywhere."

"Do you like this, Karen?"

"Yes."

"Talk. Tell me what you like."

"I like you touching me, your hands caressing my body. All of my body. I like you commanding me, taking me, owning me. Please, Eric, don't ever stop."

"Stop what?"

"Pull them. Pull my pussy hairs. It sends shocks through me. Oh, god, Eric. Fuck me! Eric, enough foreplay! I need to be fucked!"

"When I'm ready," he said.

In a flash, I spun. Like a tigress, I sprang, knocking him on his back. He looked startled as I straddled him. I grabbed his cock and held it where I wanted it.

"Now! Like this!" I snapped as I slammed my hips downward, burying him in me.

An orgasm started in my curling toes. I threw back my head and laughed. I heard him grunt as I was lifted up. His cock came out of me, leaving my orgasm unfulfilled.

"No!" I screamed as he slammed me on my back. His strong hands held my crossed wrists over my head, pinning me. I squirmed trying to find his cock with my pussy. I struggled to breathe, gasping loudly. My skin was on fire. I was crying again.

"Goddamn you, Eric," I yelled in his face which was over me like an animal over its prey. "Fuck me, you sonofabitch! Fuck me hard! Fill me with your cum! Make me preg . . . "

The word caught. Pregnant.

We were frozen in time: he over me; I pinned under him. He looked shocked. It'd never occurred to him I wasn't using birth control.

Why was I unprotected? Why had she tricked me? She - the woman who wanted to be possessed by him. Why didn't I realize it? I hadn't thought of it before that instant. It dawned on me like a light clicking on. She wanted it. She wanted this powerful, masculine creature to give her his child. She wanted her belly bloated from him. Hers? My belly. Me. Not she. Me.

Stop! You can't have another man's child! the voice is my head screamed. The humiliation, the shame. Stop! Do it! You want another child. You want Eric's child. What am I doing? What?

I screamed "no, stop" and pushed with all my might to free myself. I didn't break his hold on me as he pinned me to the floor. I didn't budge him. It wasn't my decision. Not now. It was his. One word. One thought. Such power in one little thought.

Eric's intensity exploded. His face was red and wild. His were animal's eyes, like a lion on the scent. Roughly his hand spread the lips of my pussy. His cock slammed into me. He rutted like a wild beast, with small grunts - uh, uh, uh - each time his pubis hit mine.

He wants you to have his baby, the voice said. Yes, I replied.

I felt the warmness again, the same warmness I felt when he bit my neck. My body opened to him, my legs wide and relaxed, my arms flaccid above my head. Externally I felt a numbness. Internally, I felt my pussy relax on each powerful thrust to give him the deepest access to me, and tighten on each withdrawal to keep him from leaving.

I felt like my womb was opening, like a flower in the sun - a flower who wanted to be pollinated.

"Fuck. Me. Fuck. Me. Fuck. Me," I chanted.

Eric growled as his face contorted. His frantic pounding intensified.

"Hard. er. Hard. er. Put. your. seed. in. me."

Incoherent words spewed from me as his fingers dug into my shoulders. He gasped and thrust with a last mighty lunge, holding himself deep in me. I felt his explosion. I heard his laugh.

The muscles of my pussy spasmed in a rolling, pulling motion. My pussy held him in her and milked his seed from him. She pulled his seed toward the opening of her womb - toward her egg. There was no blinding orgasm, only a series of small ones: an orgasm each time my pussy milked his cock.

"So good. So good," I mewed.

He collapsed on me. Neither of us moved except the twitching of relaxing muscles. He softened there, his cock plugging me to prevent the escape of his precious liquid. When he slipped from me, I cleaned him as I'd been taught. I took from me what he had left, tasting his nectar and licking my fingers clean.

We dressed in silence. He had not spoken since he pulled out of me that last time. He was lost in thoughts he didn't share. He locked the office door and helped me to my car.

"Eric?"

He looked at me for the first time since he was in me.

"All you all right?"

"Yes. Are you?"

"Yes. I'm very much all right."

"Are you fertile?" he asked.

"I'm ovulating now," I answered.

I said it proudly. I stood erect with my shoulders back and breasts thrust forward. My head was held high. Unabashedly, I looked him in the eyes. I was a female animal, confident of my sexuality. I relished myself, my gender. I was woman. I was the woman this powerful, virile man wanted, took and made his.

His eyes were questioning, probing. Then, his expression changed. He smiled and exuded masculine power and confidence. It was not evil or cruel. It was loving, showing the pride of a man with his woman.

"You're my woman now, Karen. You belong to me."

How can that be? the voice said. He's engaged to Polly. You're married to George.

"Yes, Eric. I do."

"We're just beginning. I'll expect much from you."

I moved against him, pressing my breasts into his chest, my arms around his waist, my face raised toward his. His leg was between mine. I rubbed my pussy against his thigh.

"I'll take whatever you give. I'll do whatever you ask," I said before I kissed him.

No one was home when I arrived. I took a long, hot bath. My shoulders and hips were bruised where he'd held me. I could see the tips of his fingers blue in my flesh. My muscles ached from exertion. My pussy was sore, a good soreness from the pleasure we'd shared. My heart soared. My over wrought mind day dreamed of him.

I'd surrendered. I was Eric's. His woman. His hot, willing woman. Anyone could see that in me. See it in my face, my eyes, in the marks on my body he left when his passion took me.

What they could not yet see was the greatest evidence of my surrender. It was hidden deep in my body. It would grow there until it was hidden no more, until I blossomed as proof of my belonging to him.

Exhausted and satisfied, I crawled into bed.

You've given yourself to him, the voice said. Yes, I answered. You'll feel horrible about what you've done. Maybe, but for now I'm floating on air. You're pregnant with his child, she said. Yes. I am. But what about tomorrow? I'll worry about tomorrow tomorrow. Hush now. I want to sleep.

In a moment, I was in a deep and sweet slumber.

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