"I want to kick and scream," I said.
He looked up. I said it again. This time the coin dropped.
"Fuck it, let’s play," he got up.
I pushed him onto my bed. Got on top of him. Looked down. I wanted to hit him. Hard. I wanted resistance. I wanted to bump up against some physical limit. I wanted breakage.
I tapped him lightly across the face. Were we both annoyed? Was this as close as we’d ever come to a fight?
He heaved up, rolled me over, slammed me onto the bed. Tore my pantyhose and panties off. Shoved a finger inside me. I fought back. Wrestled. Stifled the impulse to clock him in the face. I elbowed him in the sternum. He forced me down again. A finger in my ass and one in my pussy. I was hanging off the side of the bed.
"I’ve got you like a fucking bowling ball."
More struggle. Silent for a moment, him over me. Looking down.
"Look at you. You pretend to fight me but your cunt is all wet. You just want my dick in you."
I looked at him. So? What was he going to do about it?
I got free. Felt his desire to let go, go slack. Pinned him down. Locked his arms behind his back.
"Big strong man, just wants to get fucked like a little sissy girl."
I spat in my hand and worked a wet finger up his asshole.
Him on his back, me sucking his dick and finger-fucking him still. His dick getting softer, his asshole opening. I couldn’t tell if he was freaked out or loving it. Called it quits. Lay down for a minute. I put my arms around him.
Next thing, there I was, my slip hiked up high exposing my cunt. Him kneeling above me, “good girl,” as I sucked his dick. On my back, knees at my ears as he pushed into my ass, feeling the familiar fireworks inside my brain as he fucked it slowly. It’d been too long.
Two hours later, at a sports bar, a family event with the Super Bowl blaring out of the TVs. He made a remark about his dislike of football. “Remember how I fucked your ass earlier, doesn’t that make it more tolerable?” I asked.
He laughed. “Yes, it does.”