Repentance

They met at a house party. She was 18, he was 20. She introduced herself as Laura, he shook her hand gently and said his name was Paul. He was dark and handsome, with an air of intelligence and mystery. She was young, naïve and fun loving. He was there with a friend, she was there with a lover. It wasn't meant to be.

They chatted and got on. It was clear that opposites attract. They swapped numbers and stayed friends. They never spoke of the quick kiss they stole outside the bathroom when no one was looking.

He was there for her when her boyfriend's possessive behaviour became too much. He was her wise adviser when she tried to leave, her shoulder to cry once she was alone and her friend when she needed to talk to someone. He waited patiently, and never put any pressure on her for anything more than friendship. It was two whole years between their meeting and the first time they made love.

It was perfect sex. Neither could claim to be particularly experienced nor could they claim to be well informed, but somehow they just clicked. She was a little submissive; he was a little dominant. He was naturally rough and she loved it. They spent hours exploring each others bodies, rolling around on the bed trying everything they could thing of and loving every second of it. Their sex was intimate yet fun, better than either had ever had before. Together they were more than the sum of their parts.

For six months they lived perfects lives. Their opposite lifestyles seemed to meet without clashing. He loved her for what she was. He assumed she loved him too.

And so it was a complete shock to him when she asked to meet him in Starbucks. He was the sort of guy that was wary of corporate greed and avoided such places; and besides he didn't drink coffee. Why would she ask to meet him somewhere he would never go?

He turned up a few minutes early, bought a cup of tea and waited for her. She was five minutes late and arrived looking flustered. Despite arriving in her usual manner, there was clearly something wrong. As she sat down their eyes met and for a split second he saw something. Panic or fear maybe, possibly something else.

"I..." she began. "I'm not sure how to say this, so I'll just blurt it all out, ok?"

Paul just nodded slowly.

"I met someone else. A guy at work. He's like me, we really get on and we have so much in common, so much more than you and I do and we really like each other and he's there and..." her eyes began to fill up. "I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry too," he replied. "I didn't realise you felt this way."

"It's not that I don't love you, I do," she said. "I just need someone who is more like me. You're so.... secretive. You don't talk about your thoughts or your feelings. You're so guarded that sometimes you scare me. I can't deal with it any more. I'm sorry."

She was sorry. He had questions, but decided not to ask them.

"Can we still be friends?" She asked, instantly regretting it.

"Of course," he replied. No need for a grudge, though he wasn't sure how he'd feel about it tomorrow.

It was awkward for the first few weeks, but after a while they settled into a strange love-hate friendship. They still had lust and the desire born of their differences, but now with a bitter streak of betrayal and the distance of a respectful friendship. Eventually it reached something that vaguely resembled normality.

A few months passed, and life went on. He was still studying and devoted most of his attention to that; she went to work, went home to a new man and tried to pretend that she wasn't thinking about someone else when they made love.

But she was.

At first she was sure it would fade, but it didn't. There was no denying, her new relationship was easier but it had nothing of the excitement and danger of the old one. She missed Paul. She missed the way he smiled so rarely – it always gave her a sense of accomplishment when she made him laugh. She missed the way he thought things through, the way he knew her intimately, in a way her new lover never would. With Paul it was like he had always known her, yet she knew nothing about him. It had driven her mad, but now she craved it. She had to get him back.

Paul, on the other hand had gone on to have a series of one-night stands and a few dates, but it never felt the same. He made small talk with girls he had nothing in common with, he had in depth discussions with girls he was sure were on the same wavelength, but never did he feel quite as comfortable as he did with Laura. For all the conversation was forced, the sex was worse. He went from one lousy lay to another, never finding a girl he could connect with so wonderfully in the bedroom. Gone were the days where sex was easy. Eventually he wound up visiting an ex and asking her advice. "You're love sick honey," was what she told him. "You need to get her out of your system." Easier said than done. "You need some good hard comfortable sex. Come on." And with that, he was led upstairs for yet another let down.

More time passed. Paul kept seeing his ex for unattached sex, Laura kept dating one man and dreaming of another.

Inevitably, it was Laura who cracked. She knew Paul would never beg for her back – he would rather live the rest of his life alone than beg. And she knew it was her who had to make amends, so she arranged to meet him, though this time in the intimacy of his own flat.

She spent a long time getting ready. She left without telling her supposed partner where she was going and drove to Paul's, picking up a bottle of wine on the way. Her cleavage was on show, there would be alcohol and he would be on comfortable ground. If this didn't win him back, nothing would.

She arrived and checked her appearance in the mirror. She rang his doorbell and had to concentrate hard to stop herself shaking. He let her in. There was dinner, and talking and awkward flirting until the wine kicked in. For a short time it was as comfortable as it had always been.

Over dessert she began to explain the real reason she was there. "You see," she began, "the thing is..." and with that she explained it all. How Chris, her partner, was never the same, how he couldn't touch her the same way or make her feel the same way. How much he bored her.

Paul nodded, considering every word she said. She spoke and he listened, as always.

Eventually, she ran out of words, so she levelled it with the simple truth. "I need you," she said.

He sat motionless for a moment, mulling over every word. There was no denying it; he needed her too. He stood without speaking. She stood up, not sure what to do. Was he angry? Was he upset? She couldn't tell. He turned and looked at her, that same old piercing look that made her feel like he was staring at her very soul. She was powerless again, and she loved it.

He reached out one hand silently, and gently placed it on her cheek. She couldn't breathe as tears filled her eyes. He slid his hand through her hair to the back of her head and pulled her in. Their mouths met for the deepest, most passionate kiss either had experienced for a long time. Their tongues probed each other and she smiled as he bit her bottom lip. She felt her pulse rise as he put his arm round her waist and pulled her in tight. Her reaction was physical when he moved his hand from the back of her head down to her breast. His grip was firm, so self-assured.

She didn't protest as he helped her out of her top. He undid her skirt and let it fall to the floor, then stepped back to admire her. She had gained a little weight - had she been comforting eating? - It didn't matter, a little fat merely served to exaggerate her curves, but it was obvious she was aware of it. She no longer loved her body quite as much. She was curvier and cuter than ever, and her breasts were clearly larger. Every aspect of her spoke of sexuality and yet she was tainted. Another man had touched her. His hand flew out and slapped her hard across the face. "Slut," he spat. It surprised both of them. In panic, he grabbed her and kissed her fiercely once more, forcing his tongue into her mouth. She moaned as she softened into his arms, trusting him totally despite the slap. "I love you," he moaned, as an apology for the insult.

"I love you too" she replied with doe-eyes. She paused. "I'd do anything for you," she continued slowly. "Anything... at all."

He knew what it meant. It was all the permission he needed. He took her hands in his, placed them together and with one hand took hold of both her wrists. Pulling her forward, he placed his other hand open on her ass. He paused for a moment, feeling the curve through her panties, soaking in the warm, soft, delicate skin beneath. He pulled his hand away with some reluctance, but quickly put it back with a sharp crack. She stifled a yelp. The sound made his erect penis twitch. Again he brought his hand down, hard. This was no spanking; it was punishment.

Neither would be able to say how many times he slapped her before it occurred to him to fuck her. Either way, the skin was red with purple welts as if he had used a belt. Silently, he grabbed her hair and thrust her head forward over the nearest piece of furniture. Her pants had long been thrust down her legs. In her new position, the warm, moist slit of her sex peeked out at him. He rammed to fingers into her, violently masturbating her. She moaned loudly as he did, despite the pain it caused her. He withdrew the fingers and freed his throbbing cock from his boxers. Without hesitation he slide the full length into her, filling her. The old feeling of warmth and pleasure radiated through him from her pussy, but this time he wasn't wrapping his arms around her and loving her; this time it was a fucking. Grabbing her hips he began to thrust into her, over and over again; deep, hard, unrelenting thrusts as she squirmed and moaned beneath him. Her moans were those of pleasure, which seemed fitting. He didn't hate her, he wanted to pleasure her but he needed to punish her and this was the only way. Natural instinct had taken over and it was good. He reached up for her hair, using it as a handle to ram into her harder still. It was too much to resist slapping her face a few times with such an exposed target.

Still, it wasn't enough. He pulled his cock from her. He could feel her disappointment – orgasm had not been far, but this was not about her. Pulling her buttocks apart, he placed the head of his cock against her asshole. She let slip the faintest of gasps – anal had always been off-limits before, but she knew things were different now. After the slightest of pauses, he pressed into the forbidden hole. She gritted her teeth, panted, gasped, yelped, shifted her weight from one foot to the other and danced as much as she could but nothing could stop the pain. He used the weight of his body to force it in, pulling back on her hips until the penetration was total. She was in a new, unexplored pain as he slowly began thrusting into a new, unexplored pleasure. Unfortunately, it proved too much and he soon began to feel an orgasm building. Before the crescendo, it occurred to him that it would not be fitting to ejaculate there. It seemed like a waste to finish there, almost as though putting down a book without reading the final chapter. He withdrew sharply once more, this time causing her to squeal involuntarily, and took her by the hair again. This time he pulled her to her knees and pressed the head of his cock against her mouth. Wordlessly she opened, accepting him into her throat deeper than ever before. Three solid thrusts against her retching were enough to push him over the edge and he came hard against the back of her mouth, filling her throat with his seed. She gagged and spluttered, but he didn't care. He pinched her nose as she did, causing her to swallow every bodily fluid that had been left by his cock. For a moment, they both thought she would vomit, but the moment passed and they were left in the silence, her on her knees looking up at him. In a flash of emotion, the full extent of the previous hour (had it really been that long?!) set upon him. He had hit her, bruised and shamed her, insulted her, pulled her hair, violently assaulted her pussy, anally violated her against her will and ejaculated in her throat. To top it all off, he had forced her to swallow, an act she would never have willingly partaken in. He had abused her so easily. He was a monster. And yet, the bruised, beaten wretched girl staring up at him, mascara-stained tears flowing freely down her cheeks had only one emotion on her face: pure love. How could he not love her in return? Falling to his knees he threw his arms around her. "I'm sorry!" He cried as she sobbed on his shoulder. "I love you."

The days ahead would be interesting indeed.