Two Sides

Part One

I am leaning on the railing of the front porch enjoying a cigarette when she comes up behind me. It is that slightly haunted time just after dusk, when the sky has darkened just enough to accentuate what light is left behind. There is a small congregation of birds chatting animatedly in the bushes under the street light, but the street is otherwise quiet.

I can sense her presence before I hear or smell her and even though I tense in anticipation, I am caught off guard when she threads her fingers through my hair and uses it to yank my head back hard. She sinks her teeth into my neck and my cigarette slips through my fingers. I watch it fall to the ground, the tiny ember of the tip dull in comparison to the lights exploding behind my eyes as she tugs my jeans down around my knees.

There are always at least two sides to any story, but if anyone ever witnessed the manner in which she dominates me, they would assume it was always that way. It isn't of course, but her control is my reality at the moment. I try to drape myself over the porch railing to brace myself for the coming onslaught, but she jerks me back up roughly. She lifts my shirt up to my armpits with her left hand, exposing my breasts to the chilly night air. My nipples harden, but she doesn't touch them. Instead just keeps holding my shirt up while her right hand reaches down to part my lips to see how wet I am. She chuckles at what she finds, then brings her fingers to my mouth to share her discoveries.

We don't stay long on the porch, as she isn't trying to make me come yet. This is just a show for her neighbors; she only just moved into this neighborhood, and I suppose she thought that the sight of me bent over on the front porch, breasts bouncing to the rhythm of her fucking me from behind, would be a sufficient means of introducing herself. I don't even try to cover myself; for one thing, I know better by now: she would easily overpower me, or worse, lose interest. Besides, as reserved and self-protective as I usually am, once she gets her hands on me, I transform into a desperate, dirty little slut.

She pulls me into the house and hauls me onto the nearest available surface, which happens to be the kitchen counter. My jeans and shirt are finally removed completely and tossed on the floor. She looks at me appraisingly and reaches up to pinch my nipples. Tears spring to my eyes as she squeezes relentlessly, pulling upward and making me gasp. She warns me, as she often does, that if I try to pull away it will hurt worse. I drop my head back because it is all I can do, and relish the pain until she lets go. I love it when she does this, primarily because I know how much she loves my reaction to the pain she inflicts.

She pushes my knees up so that she can sample the juices seeping out of me, then she draws back and smacks my clit hard. Before I can recover from that she is inside me, fucking me hard enough and deep enough to make me whimper. She pounds me that way for a while, filling and stretching me as she bites my neck, my nipples, my arms hard enough that I'll have bruises tomorrow. The pain is exquisite and makes me a rag doll, helpless to do anything but yield completely to her. The more she hurts me, the more the pleasure builds and I lift my eyes to hers. Her pupils are dilated and smoldering, and as my mouth drops open, she gives a tiny, almost imperceptible shake of her head.

She is telling me that she knows my thoughts, knows what I am about to say, and she doesn't want to hear it, not yet. I think she also understands from the pleading in my eyes that to save her ears from my words she will have to silence me, and she does so with the back of her hand. The first hit lands on my right cheek, not quite hard enough for my liking. She sees my disappointment and doubles her efforts on my left cheek. The stinging pain brings release, to both of us I think, so she takes her time administering two more slaps to each cheek, right, left, right, left, harder each time. Her knuckles catch my jaw on the last blow, and I know that will be one more bruise to make me smile and recall when I see it in the mirror later.

She drags me off the kitchen counter and onto the floor, at least considerate enough to drape me on the pile of discarded clothing rather than directly on the cold, hard surface. Her movements are slower this time, more teasing and tantalizing and I know she is finally ready to make me come. When she fucks me now, it isn't quite as deep or as hard, just the way she knows I need it. She soothes my aching cunt with her tongue, occasionally nibbling or all-out biting my clit. She quickens her movements but keeps them teasing, and I arch up to meet her.

I'm getting so close now, and she knows it. Without missing a beat, her free hand reaches up to grip my throat just below my stinging jaw. She squeezes and pushes my neck, my pussy, and I start to get confused as I hover on the brink. Even as I gasp for breath, something much more precious is building up inside of me, and my whole body quivers. Flashes of color, random incoherent thoughts, and I am just lucid enough to know I have no control.

Ecstasy, fear, lust, helplessness all tumble around each other inside me as I come, again and again and I can't stop, and I can't even try to stop until she lets me.

Everything goes white, and I feel her grip on my throat loosen just as everything goes black.

Part Two

When I awaken, I have no idea how much time has passed-I might have been out for ten minutes or several hours. I am lying in bed, still naked, still feeling the slick wetness between my thighs. I can hear the television in the next room, and deduce that she must have carried me in here, rather than letting me sleep it off on the kitchen floor. Rather sweet of her, really.

I'm still a little groggy and fragile, so I examine my new bruises until I feel strong enough to stagger out of bed. I make my way into the bathroom, where I splash my face with cold water. I bend down to drink directly from the faucet, and as I straighten I realize how sore the muscles in my neck are already.

I smile at my reflection in the mirror, although it hurts a little to do so because of my bruised jaw. The thing that so many people don't understand is, it takes significant amounts of trust and respect to either fuck or be fucked the way we do. Truth be told, the sweat, lust, juices and bruises are all secondary to the empowerment that comes with knowing just how much trust and respect has been bestowed upon you and you alone. Anyone experienced in such matters understands that behind all the smoke and mirrors, it is the sub and not the dom who possesses the true psychological power. It is an indescribable but irresistible combination of servility and pride.

It is this train of thought that follows me out of the bathroom and down the hall. I find her on the couch, drinking a beer and watching television. She doesn't hear me approach; I can move as quietly as a cat, and am therefore frequently sneaking up on people without meaning to.

At present however, my movements are very deliberate, because my approach is crucial. If she gets hold of me before I manage to tame her, then I'll again be at her mercy for an indeterminate amount of time. Thankfully, the television is blaring loudly enough that she doesn't hear me behind her, doesn't know that I am there until I bend to take her right earlobe into my mouth. I work my way over her ear with my teeth and with my tongue, and I feel the goose bumps prickling all down her right side. It never fails to amaze me that it is just as easy for me as it is for her, that we can take reason and sanity from each other with so little effort.

When I hear her groan a little, I circle to the other side of the couch. I coax the beer from her hand and take a swig before setting it on the table. I position myself between her legs and kneel on the floor in front of her. I unbutton her shirt and pants, peel the clothes off of her like I'm unwrapping a present, and sit back to appreciate the sight of her spread out before me.

Her eyes are heavy-lidded, and she exudes a harnessed strength even as her body trembles for my touch. I pull her to me and sink my teeth into first one nipple, then the other. I kiss my way down her stomach, over the curve of hip, into the dip of thigh. When I'm close enough, I close my eyes and breathe in deeply the scent of her, then look up to meet her eyes. She returns my stare with a burning intensity that makes her look dangerous. The fire in her eyes, however, is not telling me to stop, but warning me of what she will do if I continue tormenting her. So I lower my head to circle her clit with my tongue. She spreads her legs to let me in, and I ignore the ache in my jaw and open my mouth wide, trying to take in as much of her juicy wetness as possible.

She says my name, and there is a catch in her voice. I suspect I know what she is thinking, and I don't want to hear it yet, so I bite down hard on her clit to distract her. She whimpers like a little girl, and this reaction from her, when she owns so much of me, is a potent drug. She makes me greedy and hungry and feral, and I am desperate to possess her right now. Without taking my tongue off her, I slide two fingers into her, testing the waters.

She opens to me as easily as a worn copy of a favorite book, one that I don't even have to read because I've memorized the story and committed it to heart. I work at her, pushing deeper, adding more until she is wrapped around my hand just to the knuckle at the base of my thumb. Her hands are in my hair again, but instead of yanking my head back, she is holding me in place.

I keep my mouth on her, alternating between stroking her clit and running my tongue over my knuckles to lubricate my hand. Slowly, slowly, I push my hand that last little way into her, curling my fingers into a loose fist. Once I'm in place, I go perfectly still inside her. My other arm reaches around to hold her close, and when I look into her eyes this time, I am awed and humbled by what I see. All I can think is that she is some kind of goddess, and I am as deep inside her as any mere mortal could be.

She starts to ease herself up and down, taking in a bit more of my wrist each time. I can feel the tremors starting in her legs, and it makes me shake, too. She clenches my hand so tightly that I honestly fear broken bones, and then she's coming hard, again and again, and we are wrapped around each other and the sight of her moves me so much I almost come again, too. After she finally pushes me out, she lays back like a rag doll, as helpless and yielding to me as I was to her a short while ago-and as sated.

She admires my bruises, and I comment on the large wet spot she has left on the couch. We smile and sort of half-laugh at each other and the aftermath of our destruction. Then we look into each others' eyes until neither of us can see anything other than a glimpse of our souls. Lips almost touching, we breathe into each other and finally allow ourselves to speak, and all either of us can say is, I Love You.