Rage

I had felt it again, racing through my blood like a fever. It's a feeling of rage, or carnal lust and anger so strong it almost chokes me. The need to lash out was overwhelming, irresistable. That's how our fight had started.

It had been a long frustrating day at work; impatient customers, everybody wanting it NOW, complaints, problems, the phone never stopping its incessant ringing. I just wanted to go home.

But home was no picnic either lately. It seemed all we did was snip and pick at each other. Both of us overworked, tired, and restless. I couldn't remember the last time we had made love. I knew in my heart that this was not what either of us had dreamed of.

I came into the house and he was already home. I could hear music blaring in the basement. God, not again. He always did this when he was mad about something. He'd put on some hard classic rock, and practically barricaed himself in the family room.

Something inside of me snapped. It seemed the final straw in a week from hell. I shrugged out of my jacket, threw my shoes across the room, and went crashing down the stairs. I flung the door open so hard it hit the wall behind it.

I saw him jerk his head around, dropping the stack of CD's he had in his hand. "What the hell is wrong with you?" he snapped.

I had heard about being angry and seeing red, but never felt it until now. A primal urge to throttle him burst in my head, and I knew he could see it in my eyes. As we stared at each other, I could feel something happening between us. Something frightening, urgent, something so raw there was no name for it.

His hand curled into fists at his sides, and he whispered, "Try it."

His challenging words were like fire on a flame. All the frustration and anger of the past few weeks seemed to bubble up from deep inside me, and I had no choice but to respond. I crossed the room, a low growl in my throat, and tried to slap him.

His strong hand gripped my wrist before it reached his face, and with his eyes blazing into mine, he said just one word, "Don't."

I was past feeling anything but blind anger. I struggled to get my wrist free, trying to peel his fingers off me. I scratched him with my long nails, and it seemed to push him over the edge.

With a fierce sound he grabbed my other hand and pushed me to the sofa. He shoved me down on it, and my skirt slid up my legs. "Stay," he growled.

I was too shocked to say anything. But I felt something, a feeling I had never had before. It was a kind of wild excitement shimmering under the anger. I started to get up, and then he was in front of me. In his hand was a ping pong paddle.

"Get up," he said quietly. Something in his tone made me obey, and I stood on shaky legs. He sat down on the couch, and quickly gripped my wrist again, jerking me down across his lap. The breath rushed out of me as I landed on his firm thighs.

I struggled briefly, and he gripped my hair with his hand and pushed my upper body down. Putting his arm like a steel band across my lower back, he held me against him. I could feel the anger building again, and I struggled harder.

The first blow, when it struck, startled me, and I yelped. The paddle had come down sharply on my bottom, and I felt it through my clothes. CRACK, another whack on the other cheek. His hand roughly shoved my skirt up, and yanked my nylons and panties down. He continued to paddle me relentlessly, grunting with the effort. My skin felt like it was on fire.

Suddenly he stopped, and dumped me onto the floor. I pushed my hair out of my face, and glared at him. "Had enough?" he asked.

I could feel how flushed my face was, and my heart was thundering in my chest. I wanted something, but I couldn't find the words to describe it. I shook my head.

His reaction was electrifying. He reached down and grabbed me by my blouse, pulling me to my feet. With both hands, he ripped the fabric like it was nothing, then undid my bra and stripped them off me. "Take off your skirt," he ordered.

Mesmerized by the look on his face, I complied, letting the expensive skirt slide to the floor unnoticed. His hands gripped my panties, and with a groan he ripped them as well, peeling them away from my body.

Standing there, naked, him still completely dressed, stirred something in me. I could feel my body bracing for something, preparing. He slowly started to unbutton his shirt, removing it, then his pants and shorts. His cock was rigid, throbbing, almost purple.

He moved closer to me, his hand threading through my hair, and he kissed me. It was a kiss like nothing we had ever shared. His teeth scraped my lips, and I felt them cut me. His mouth was ferocious, possessing mine with a need so deep I could feel it passing from him to me.

He pushed me to the floor and mounted me, driving himself deep into me with one sure thrust. My hips arched up off the floor with the power of it. My hands clung to him, clutching at his shoulders as he began to methodically fuck me. Long, deep, and hard, he penetrated my softness with his hardness again and again.

He was taming my anger with his body. Passion replaced it, and I pulled his face down to mine, kissing him from the depths of my soul. He groaned deep in his chest and kissed me back, his strokes gentling, his hands going under my ass to lift me up into him tighter.

He pulled back, his eyes wild and dark. He said he loved me, each word punctuated by a deep driving thrust. His words pushed me over the edge, and I was in the grip of an orgasm like nothing I had ever felt. Powerful waves crashed over and through me, and they went on and on. They swept him up as well, and I could feel his body go rigid as he released his seed into me.

We both collapsed on the floor, our breathing harsh in the quiet room. My arms were limply around him, and he rolled off me, pulling me against his body. I started to cry, the range of emotions so strong as I tried to understand them. He rocked me gently, murmuring soothing words. "Shhhhh, it's alright, love."

I sobbed harder, saying, "Please don't leave me." It was the first time either of us had ever acknowledged that it was a possibility.

He kissed me softly, and looking into my shimmering eyes, said, "Never, understand me? Never." I believed him.

Rage by Cathy O'Niel copyright 2006