The Duel

Many thanks to Guinahart, my wonderful editor, whose advice was priceless and without whom it would have been impossible to finish this story.

*****

She's wearing the pink-white chemise, which he thinks is astonishing. Hasn't Marie - a sophisticated as well as good looking graduate student in her final year - just made it clear that it is over? It wasn't a nice scene. Of course, it wasn't the first time in their 2 month relationship that, like a hailstorm out of the blue sky, a plethora of accusations and insults lashed down on him.

As usual, her allegations sounded somewhat confused and had no basis in reality. Nevertheless, they were directed at him with an explosive energy that made him feel chilly inside. He knew that in these situations it was useless to appeal to her common sense. When she had one of her fits she was inaccessible to any kind of logical reasoning. At the end there was only one thing that was certain: never, ever again could there be anything resembling a relationship between them. She isn't talking to him anymore; and naturally, sex is totally out of the question.

Nonetheless, fifteen minutes later she comes out of the bathroom, and of all things she is wearing the pink-white chemise. The pink-white chemise is the most flimsy garment she possesses, a kind of T-shirt which is so short, it doesn't even properly cover her bum. Plus, she is well aware of its effect on him. It just drives him crazy with lust when she's wearing this thing! Especially when, like now, she isn't wearing anything underneath. He couldn't help noticing that when she emerged out of the bathroom and strutted directly past him, ostensibly ignoring his presence. Right now she is lying quietly in the bed, as if there had never been any disagreement between them. She appears to be waiting for him.

He's unsure what to do. She looks at him with this melancholy and analysing gaze of hers, watching as he hesitates to accept what he perceives as an unspoken invitation. His hesitation is short-lived. Her slender body with its pale skin, smallish breasts and long legs, has always attracted him like a magnet. To him, she is the embodiment of female-provocative sexuality; and she knows it.

He thinks of her lying under the sheets practically naked. It's enough to make his longing for her stir. Ignoring the flashing warning lights in his head, he slowly and deliberately undresses. He makes sure she can see him take off all of his clothes, so there are no doubts about his intentions. Then he joins her in the bed, naked as he is. He cuddles up to her and puts his arm around her shoulder in a placatory gesture. She permits it but doesn't react. She seems distant. What is going on in her mind?

He has often asked himself that question during those last weeks. Frequently he has been at a complete loss to explain her behaviour, especially when she has one of her unpredictable fits of rage. More often than not, these fits result in her declaring the end of their relationship; something she usually seems to forget after a short while. In short, their relationship resembles a perpetual roller coaster ride. He has never experienced anything like this in his life. He has a feeling that being with her has not only turned his every day life upside down but also is having an effect on how he behaves as a person in general.

Oh dear God. If only he wouldn't be so besotted with her. She could be the most charming, imaginative woman he had ever met. Their impetuous affair had carried him to previously unknown emotional and sexual heights; only to be crushed down to earth with all might. These crushing moments were the times when he wished he had never met her. He has come to realize that with her, he couldn't be sure of anything, ever. Occasionally, he has quietly been asking himself which one of them actually was of sound mind. Was it her, or was it him who was - well, crazy?

He lifts up the duvet, supports his weight on his elbow and stretches one of his legs across her. He looks at her musingly and starts running his hand slowly across her. He traces the shape of her torso, feels the delicate skin under the thin fabric of her chemise. She does not resist but she keeps her legs fiercely crossed - as if to emphasise that these legs are never again going to open for him.

He's now doing his best to seduce her by way of tenderness; he strokes her hair, delicately touches her small breasts through the soft cloth. She turns her head sideways and stares at the wall. Her expression is that of the silently suffering martyr. Her mind seems to be in a different world - a world that no one except her has access to. He pushes his hand lightly between her knees. She responds by emphatically pressing them together. All the while, she does not look at him and doesn't say a word. She demonstrates that she is refusing his advances, but something is wrong.

So she doesn't want to be shagged? Well yes, she said as much, didn't she. But then why is she, right now, lying in bed with him? How can she not realise that her chemise is less of a garment, but rather an invitation to jump on her and just fuck her? Doesn't she notice that this flimsy thing has already ridden up to her navel, and that her uncovered mimi is only inches from his hard cock?

Mimi. This childlike euphemism she's always using when she refers to her genitalia! As if it were a harmless, innocent part of her body; something that good girls like her would only deal with when they needed to go for a wee. Ha, innocent! A lure would be more like it! That's it, her mimi is a Venus flytrap, more than anything else! He considers his comparison to be rather funny, at the same time, it annoys him. He is uncomfortably aware that it is her mimi which gives her power over him.

He frowns. He is angry with himself over his weakness. He is irritated because he has a distinct premonition that she is playing a game on him. However, his male, straightforward way of thinking can't progress on this line of reasoning. To him, nothing makes sense, which makes him even more angry. Are you having a great time, messing around with me? All the irrational scenes, the hysteric fits, the punitive measures, like not talking to him for hours? That's it, I've had it with you, he suddenly decides. Today is the day, enough is enough.

He feels the urge to punish her. Pushing himself on his arms, he lies on top of her body. This time, it's not a question. It's an announcement, a declaration of war. His hands are slipping under the thin fabric of her chemise and gliding upwards. His roaming fingers reach the sensitive breasts, and without hesitation he touches them and feels them up in a possessive way. He knows she absolutely loves the feeling of his hands on her breasts, but now her facial expression is as if he were trying to poison her. Bitch! Of course he doesn't say that. He never talks like that, least of all with her. She puts a high value on formalities. Still, right now the word just pops into his mind. Bitch.

He pushes his thigh forward to part her legs. Again, her clenched knees are blocking his access. He persists. He has never used force on her before, but today she has gone too far. She thinks she can get away with everything? He is going to teach her a lesson!

With these thoughts on his mind, he repeats his advance with greater resoluteness. Meeting her resistance with sheer power, he quickly succeeds. The physical fight and the electrifying feeling of her bare skin on his, heighten his arousal. With a sense of triumph, he spreads her legs and moves between them. She doesn't give up yet, so he grips her buttocks in both his hands to keep her still.

She breathes heavily, and he feels the muscles of her bum under his fingers. He is holding her with a vice-like grip, to align her body for the assault. Oddly enough, she remains silent during all this, not saying a word. She, who is so brilliant in battling with words, engages in a physical fight with him that she can only lose. It even seems as if she would accept the result of the duel without a question.

His cock thrusts forward into the darkness between her legs. Her pelvis eludes with a swift sidewards movement. He quickly pushes again, and once more, and then there is her suppressed moan and the defensive tightening of her vaginal muscles around his tip. Every woman knows, it's impossible to prevent a man from entering her vagina by just tensing her muscles. Yet that's exactly what she is doing; and she is now actually saying, "No... no". She still doesn't look at him when she says "no", but her torso is trying to evade his attack...

...In vain. The tip of his angrily swollen cock is stuck in her entrance, and each of her wriggling movements make him enter the tight channel even further. She can't do anything. With short, controlled, forward-backward-movements, his painfully hard erection is making its way into her womanhood. Her elaborate tensing and squeezing is slowing down his intrusion, but cannot stop it. It actually heightens the intensity of his pleasure. At one point, he props himself up and watches her, lying under him and letting herself be penetrated with a defeated expression.

While he is watching her face, suddenly the thought crosses his mind that she is playing a role. Finally, he understands. He recognizes that he has been manipulated in a twofold way. That she purposely incited his rage. Ha! That's what gives you the thrill - to present yourself as the defenceless victim, and me as the brute? That arouses you, does it? You are a bitch! That it took him so long to solve the riddle makes him even more furious. He shoves into her so violently that she pleadingly grabs his forearm.

She is still murmuring, "No! No!" though more to herself than to him. He completely ignores her and takes her by the shoulders. You were going to fuck with me? Listen. I'm going to get back at you and your pretty, clean, rosy cunt. I'm going to fuck you. That's right. I'm going to fuck you so hard you won't be able to walk tomorrow! This will make you think twice before you mess around with me again.

Vindictively, he rams his cock into her. He does it with deliberate, slow movements, his manhood tightly embedded in her womanhood. He is savouring the feeling of friction which he is causing within her, not letting her forget about the presence of the intruder. That's his revenge. Her eyes and mouth are half open, she appears like in trance, as his massive pole fills up her body.

He grasps her buttocks, trying to make her respond to his movements. He doesn't want her to succeed in playing the role of the victim until the end! He accelerates his pace. The sensation of her unwilling, tight walls around his penis is very strong. Strangely enough, during his assault, he feels a kind of growing bond with her. As if, via his cock and her vagina, he was connected to her soul.

Acting on a sudden impulse, he puts his mouth close to her ear and whispers, "Slut!!... You are a little slut, aren't you?" For the first time, she looks directly at him. In her gaze, there is something unfathomable. She looks straight into his eyes while he is deeply penetrating her. As if he were letting her in on a secret, he whispers, barely audible, "Show me that you are a good slut. Open your legs for me!"

The effect is immediate. She obediently loosens her long legs, opens them wide, moves them a little and slowly shuts them again. Her head is falling back. She moans. His cock feels squeezed by her strong muscles, and he senses a sudden wetness. He is baffled, but quickly recovers. His thrusts become more relentless. With all the contempt he can put into his voice, he hisses at her, "You filthy whore!!"

She moans loudly, then embraces him with fierce passion and crosses her legs behind his back. She kisses him directly on the mouth. The abrupt change of emotions shocks him. After what they had done to each other, he perceives the sudden intimacy almost as repulsive.

At the same time he is overcome by a strange, unknown excitement. Something in him is saying, Why not? Don't be so uptight. He decides to go along with her game. He answers her kiss, an immature, teenager-like and devoted kiss. The kiss gets more and more feverish, while their sexual organs, united in deadly, passionate combat, are struggling to find a common rhythm.