I'd like to thank TekNight, my editor and friend, for saving me from stupidity with his keen eye for detail. Any flaws still in here are entirely my responsibility. Note for the reader: this story contains some resistance play. If that ain't your thing, feel free to read something else.


Somewhere inside my head there's an animal constantly coming to grips with death. I'm sure of it. I can tell, because it keeps returning to the same place over and over again, like it lost something there. A horse mourning where it lost its companion, a salmon swimming to its birthplace to die, a dog returning to where his owner used to be. What's inside of them is inside of me. Instinctively it's replaying the events leading up to this, as if it can change the outcome, not able to accept the loss. I've got a mourning creature inside of me, but it ain't me. Because me, I wouldn't change a thing. I would do it all over again. Yes, I lost a piece of me, but I found something that completes me.

It all has to do with her. If you want to know everything, every painful detail - and that is why you're here, right? - then let me tell you about her. Maybe it was the first time I met her, but I don't think so. We've known each other for such a long time, since early in high school, that I cannot pinpoint where I started losing to her. Gradually, in the years we hung out together, the slow drip of discovering her liveliness, her quirkiness and her growing kinkiness polished a smooth hole my heart until it was hers. Pointless as it is to try and determine where it became irreversible – because I don't believe things are ever reversible - I keep wondering when it was that I realized I wanted her and would do anything to get her to want me. If only I had known what that would mean.

You want the truth, hm? O.K. I'll admit. I did know what it would mean. At least, I could've known, which I believe means I did know. The wild side of me, the instinctual part of me that uses my gut as a compass, it knew. And it went and pointed me in that direction anyway. It should not complain, I'm here because it wanted me to be.

"It'll never work out. He's too sweet." I remember her saying that, but I've forgotten who she was talking about.

We had been spending a lot of time like this, talking online. That dangerously safe feeling environment that distanced us enough to allow us to get closer and become more than the casual friends we were before. Irrevocably we reached that vulnerable level of talk about love and sex. The level where it instantly matters that you're a guy and she's a girl, even though you both pretend it doesn't matter. You circle around each other, predators, teasing and trying, determining whether it's possible to be just friends, or whether there will be a confrontation.

"I need someone who can counteract me," she said. "He can't handle me. I will walk all over him, and not in a good way..." She paused for a second. "Well, not in a way he would enjoy anyway."

It was nothing special, she'd said things like that before, but I remember suddenly seeing something I hadn't seen earlier. I was pretty sure this never had been a conversation about 'him' in the first place, whoever he was anyway. There it was, on the screen, daring me to ask what she meant, but I already knew.

Oh sure, you could definitely say I'd done enough to have had this coming. She couldn't get to me with her shit, and she couldn't stand that. It turned into an increasingly intense form of play fight she seemed to enjoy immensely, still it sometimes got us on the verge of a fight. These things tended to bleed into our real life encounters, with varied results. Friends said we hated to love and loved to hate each other, and it was true. She was a delicious challenge. If I ever knew a smart girl that was a real opponent, it was her. It was a turn on, especially when I'd manage to win. But by then the power balance seemed to have shifted a little. Now I would say I'd lost the race altogether already.

In retrospect she'd been dripping these little toxic drops of aggression mixed with sex, more and more, surreptitiously clouding my mind, poisoning my heart. I'd been more than slightly affected by the intimate things she shared with me, way before I saw it all had to do with me. Even then, I had made an effort to hide it, but my tendency towards brutal honesty turned against me and she smelled blood. She'd been prying me, testing me, getting bolder in subtle ways. And this one was aimed directly at my crotch. And this time, for the first time, I had no defense. The mental bruise she left that night made my crotch throb painfully as dark ideas swirled in my head.

From then on, our conversations became even less innocent, making my life harder. Gradually I started thinking up elaborate scenarios, to see what it could mean if she would "walk all over me", and it sparked the desperate urge in me to take revenge. At some point I pictured how her face would look with a sadist grin, or with desperate, pleading eyes, and I'd created a virus of the mind. Her pretty face, saturated with these dark desires, started haunting me during unexpected moments throughout the day. The only relief was the awareness she wanted me as well, even if it was just to toy with, like all the others. It amused and angered me at the same time and more often than not ended with me jacking off to a fantasy in which I did unspeakable things to her to make her pay.

I kept it all a secret from her, which is not to say she didn't know. With her having a mind like that, I was never sure anything could be kept hidden from her. It was a guilty pleasure of the most dangerous kind: it had the power to draw blood, leave scars, kill things, and it did. I'm not sure where we passed the point of no turning back – I'm convinced there is no turning back at all, ever – but if there were, we passed it somewhere in the long months that followed. It was an exhilarating game that was set up to end. Someday we would have to have this confrontation.

Things came to a head on the hot summer night G. celebrated his birthday and his resignation – or dismissal. Nobody was really sure which of the two it was. When we arrived, G. was getting slightly too hammered to ask, so I assumed the latter. She, however, flirted with him until she had an answer. It was an obscene sight, though nobody else seemed to object or even notice.

"What the fuck is up with the war paint and the body armor?" I asked her. I knew her as a girl who would usually go for stylish shirts with jeans. This dress was something else. And that make-up... I wasn't sure I liked this. All that effort. She was up to something.

She grinned. Her teeth looked extraordinarily straight and white and a little grotesque in the dim light of the garden. That luscious mouth of hers, it scared me, fascinated me. The warm air was thick with the heavy scent of flowers. The party crowd was moving inside again for some reason. I remember wondering whether that scent would stick to her hair, like cigarette smoke does. Could it linger on her all night, rub off on the pillow in her bed?

"So, you like it?"

"Don't you put words in my mouth, girl," I grinned back. "I've never seen you dress up like this. I'm asking who you've dressed up for."

Yeah, I know. She had my attention and she knew it. Maybe I shouldn't have said that, but I did. Looking back I see how bold and innocent I still was, how this whole game was getting the better of me, and how she must have seen it so clearly. I wanted her and I resented that. The sight of her calculatingly trying to entangle some other guy in her web, just to play with him for fun, was making me touchy. It made me want to kill him and punish her. I remember thinking that I was in the wrong frame of mind for a party.

"Is it G.? 'Cause, y'know, he's not the best catch tonight."

She and G. had flirted a little in the past. Being the honest ass that I am, I'd told her before in no uncertain terms what I thought of him.

"Oh really? Then who is?" she rebutted, with a playfully raised eyebrow.

"So it's G., huh?" I teased. It might've been the beers, but she took the bait.

"No, it's not G., you jealous motherfucker. What do you take me for? You know he's no match. Nice guy and all, but such a pushover", she winked.

And there it was again. That thing that pushed my button. Somehow, even though she did exactly what I wanted her to do, she'd gotten me exactly where she wanted.

"Yeah, I know. You like your guys mean," I replied. "I wonder whether you actually know what you're asking for."

She looked at me intensely for just a little too long and then moved a step closer than comfortable.

"Try me...," she said under her breath.

I don't think she expected me to actually do that. Neither did I. I'm still proud I did. The animal in me had been preying on her all evening, and he didn't want to back down. Right he was. This was too good a chance. I slowly cornered her against the wall.

"You're asking the guy who's not a pushover to try you?" I said quietly. "Careful, girl. Because he will."

She looked at me defiantly. I had the urge to slap her, grab her throat. I hungered for the desperate, pleading eyes I'd seen so many times in my fantasies. Firmly I took her chin, raised her head, until our noses almost touched. Somehow she was too stunned to protest.

"He will..." I whispered. "And when he does, he will win and he'll make you do things you've never done before. And you will do them, because he wants you to. And he'll make you love it, too."

I had put myself in a cage with something fierce. Any mistake could turn the tables. My heart raced and my cock started growing in my pants. Yes, I know; I should never have tried to kiss her. But that mouth...

She lunged at me, fast, grabbed my face, squeezed her fingers in my cheeks.

"You think so, hm?" Her lovely lips slowly morphed into a sarcastic grin.

I didn't resist. I couldn't. It was a turn on like nothing before. Her body was hot and soft against me, an exhilarating contrast with the pain she threatened to cause. Her eyes shot fire. She must've felt my cock getting really, really hard, through that thin, torturous dress of hers.

"I will eat you alive and spit you out again, sucker," she sneered.

It was over in a second. She let me go again, acted like nothing had happened. She leaned against the wall and took the last sip of her beer, as I stared into the starless sky.

"We'll see about that," I said.

She looked up. It might not have been what she expected me to say. I was determined not to let her continue this fencing game. She wouldn't win. Not this time.

"The night ain't over yet. By far. You just wait."

I remember not waiting for her reply, offering to get her another beer and changing the subject when I got back. I remember hoping, while I was talking to some guy in a pink t-shirt, that she'd be wondering what I was up to. I remember having forgotten where my bag was and suddenly recalling again with malicious delight that all my stuff was in her bedroom, because I was supposed to sleep at her place. What else can I tell you? I don't remember much else. I'm sorry if it sounds confusing, that was how it was.

None of it matters anyway. What mattered was the moment she closed her front door behind us. We hadn't talked much while walking up to her house. Maybe she was upset with me, maybe she was just tired, but, whatever it was, it lent her a stern, timeless kind of beauty that gave me the eerie feeling of being undeserving, unworthy somehow... She seemed to avoid my gaze. Until we were inside. I remember having been amazed, later, at how crossing a simple threshold could change things so much.

She looked me straight in the eye and I wasn't sure what I was seeing. But I didn't care either. We both knew the moment had come where I would carry out my menacing promise, but that it was still undetermined who'd win that battle. While she tried to take off her coat, I quietly pressed her against the door, trapping her arms in the sleeves, behind her back.

"Fuck off!" she spat out at me.


I gave her a cold stare. She could've said anything, it didn't touch me at all. I was going to make her suffer. I caressed her neck.

"What the hell... Let me go!"


I put my hand under her chin again, like I had done earlier that evening. She closed her eyes, just for a moment. Her breath trembled slightly. She wanted it, I tell you, she might never admit that. Then she collected herself again, looked at me defiantly.

"Seriously... You have to come up with something better than this." She snorted a little, but I could've sworn it was a facade.

This was a staring contest more intense than any I'd been in. I wasn't going to back down, though. My knees pried her legs apart and I lifted that soft dress of hers a little to caress the inside of her thighs. She cursed me under her breath, but she couldn't stop me.

"Something better, huh?"

She struggled a little against me. It aroused me more than I would've expected. Her tensed up body pinned against that door stirred something devious inside of me. Absolutely, it reminded me of hunting, the rush of the chase, the kick of capturing the prey. Like a fox suddenly seeing something stir in the undergrowth. Whoever thinks foxes are cute has never felt the intoxicating rush of the hunt for themselves.

My hand wandered a little higher between her legs.

"Jesus, stop it, you asshole!"

"You asked for an asshole, remember. Repeatedly." I firmly tilted her head to the side, let my lips brush against her neck. My other hand softly caressed the hem of her panties. She inhaled sharply. I chuckled.

"You don't fool me. You don't want me to listen to you at all," I whispered. I slowly kissed her ear. "And I won't."

She let out a soft, involuntary whimper that expressed as much frustration as arousal. I was getting to her, she was letting her guard down.

"I'll make you listen to me. And you will obey. Because if you won't, I will stop and I will leave and nothing like this will ever happen again."

Was it a threat or a way out? Even looking back now, I couldn't really tell you. I saw her struggle inside. Such a smart, tough girl, with such an image to keep up. She should want take the way out, she should want to grab this opportunity to make me pay, but she didn't. She didn't want me to go. I could see.

I traced her cheek with my nose until my lips were almost touching hers. I felt her hot, trembling breath, her breasts heaving against me. I wanted to take that tempting mouth without her permission until she squirmed. I wanted to manhandle those lovely tits, wanted to feel how wet her panties were, while she still had her arms trapped behind her back. But I was not going to make those mistakes. Because more, much more than that I wanted her to yield to me.

"Now, kiss me, tough girl..." I whispered against her lips. She didn't respond, didn't turn away either.

"Come on," I commanded again, brushing my lips to hers. "Kiss me. You know you want to."

Her tongue flicked across her lips, ever so slightly. There must've been an impossible tug o war inside her head, it must've been so embarrassing to admit to herself I was right. Here I was, her best friend, the one who knew all about her dark desires, taking full advantage of that. It was payback time for the relentless flirting she'd done, and she knew it. Finally, her big, lovely eyes started to show what I yearned for so much. Pleading, begging, torture. It was incredibly intimate.

"No. I'm not going to take it. You have to give it to me. Or I'll leave. You know I will leave."

She still didn't move. Maybe I'd been wrong. There was only one way to find out. I slowly released my hold on her, backed away a little. She cursed me, quietly. She told me I would have to pay for this. Up until today I'm not sure I actually heard her say that, or that I falsely remember that warning sign. I see you laugh. I know. Of course I would pay. It's funny now to wonder about whether she said that or not. No, it would not have make a difference. I ignored it nevertheless. Because when I backed away, she showed a desperation I'd never seen before. It made her give in, finally, and she kissed me.

The rush was incredible. She was mine now. I could take what I had longed for all that time, violently. I plundered her mouth, roughed up her tits, ravaged her pussy under that dress. The high it gave her was making her groan and swear and forget everything and anything around her, and she took me with her.

Everything that didn't matter disappeared. The house around us, filled with stupid objects, the streets leading to other stupid houses, stupid people. This entire senseless, man made environment was blown to pieces under the storm of this animal frenzy between us. Her, me, nothing was left, just this instinctual fight, this knot of hate and love, aggression and desire. The more she suffered, the more I wanted to make her hurt. Every flicker of embarrassment she showed made me want to humiliate her more. Her vulnerability was beautiful, touching, addictive.

I feel it all over again talking about it now. But she was only mine for a moment. It would prove to be the most challenging night, the most demanding fuck I'd ever had. Everything I wanted her to do, I had to battle to get. She'd retreat in her tower of stubbornness, make me think she was backing out, to finally give in again.

"Suck my cock," I commanded her, but she defied me. I remember slowly coming down from my high, realizing I had to work to stay in control. I also remember fearing I would not be up to that challenge, but that, fucking hell, I would die trying. She would only sink to her knees when I threatened to leave unless she'd take my cock down her throat as deep as she could. God, seeing her embarrassment as I grabbed her hair, making her strain to take my dick as I slowly pushed it deeper and deeper into that soft, wet mouth until I made her gag, and, especially, fucking her flushed face after that... it would've been worth three times the effort.

That night, in that big bed of hers with the black sheets, it didn't matter how obstinate she was, I made her do whatever I wanted. I made her lie down on my lap and bare her ass for me to spank. And I spanked it, slowly building it up, until her butt was bright red and she screamed and swore and wriggled in my lap. I made her offer her tits to me, so I could hurt them. And every time she cursed me because she didn't want more, I made her ask for more. I made her spread her legs, touch her pussy, insert one, two, four fingers, stretch herself some more until it hurt. I made her lick her hand and tell me how it tasted, until her face was a deep crimson. I made her masturbate for me, not allowed to cum, until she begged me for an orgasm. And I wouldn't let her have it.

She was there to be my fuck toy. Humiliation and pain got her pussy wet - very, very wet - entirely for my pleasure, not hers. What made it even more enjoyable was having her say that out loud, in her own words.

"Use me," was what she said. She whispered it, her face all flushed. Barely dared to look me in the eye. "Until you cum, inside of me. Use me to get off."

Oh yes. I wanted to fuck that dripping pussy between those bright red butt cheeks so hard she would cry, and that was exactly what I was going to do. Forcing my cock into her was heaven. Her pussy was slick, hot, and still incredibly tight. She resisted me, tried to push me away, while the animal inside of me took over. It seemed to know exactly what to do. I pinned her arms to the bed, forcing myself between her kicking legs, burying my dick deep in her tight, clenching pussy, over and over. The violence brought her close to tears and brought me close to orgasm. I couldn't help myself whispering in her ear that I knew she liked it, calling her a filthy little kinky slut for wanting this, telling her to be a good girl and take it. It felt like I was raping her. I knew I wasn't, or I thought I knew... but it felt like it anyway and I still couldn't stop. Those pleading eyes, those desperate, beautiful, teary eyes... It was disturbingly hot.

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byAllyourbase© 26 comments/ 148409 views/ 90 favorites

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