Page 5 of Just the Sex: Erotica Shorts

angry.

rough.

dominating.

sex.

Nathan is a man possessed, grabbing me the moment I enter the room, his hands tight on my arm, my robe’s thin silk doing nothing to prevent what will be bruises. I drop the cool exterior, the mask that I adorned before stepping into this house, and look at him in panic.

He is a ball of barely restrained emotion, his breath coming in short, controlled bursts, his face dark, the lines in his face heavy and pronounced. He pushes me, over to the leather chaise lounge, until I am on my back and he is towering over me, his hands in fists.

“Nathan, please.” I gasp, moving away from him, my robe open around my legs.

“You think this is a game?” he hisses. “Our marriage, our agreement?”

I open my mouth, searching for something to say, not understanding his anger. Was this over the pool? My little ridiculous swim?

He leans closer, ‘til his mouth is inches from mine, ‘til his breath is hot on my skin. “Answer me.”

I wet my lips. “No,” I whisper.

“No, what?” he snarls, yanking the sash on my robe, the silk moving easily under his strength.

“No, its not a game.” I keep my face timid, my voice soft, but inside my teeth bare and my claws flex. No, it’s not a game, this is my life, my worth, my sanity. For a man who doesn’t like games, he should throw out the rules and stop keeping score of who is ahead in the I’m-in-control race. His eyes are hard on mine and staring in them tells me exactly how furious he is. I have never seen him this angry, have never seen this level of emotion from him in any way. It lights a fire in my belly, knowing that I have elicited this response, knowing that he cares enough to be mad.

He reaches forward, gripping the back of my neck and pulling me up, pressing his mouth roughly to mine as he pulls open my robe, baring my body to him. It is not a kiss. It is a domination, strong movements of his tongue that tease, taste, and torment my tongue. He nips my bottom lip, fucks me with his tongue, then gently kisses my swollen lips, taking one final journey of my mouth before he pulls off.

I open my eyes, expecting a softer Nathan above me, expecting the change in his kiss to reflect the forgiveness that had occurred. His fists have loosened, those hands now running rampant over my body, my robe fully open, my legs parted with his knee. His face has calmed, the deep lines faded, the set of his mouth relaxed. But his eyes betray him. His eyes show the fierce anger that still burns brightly. And I know. I know that my punishment is not over.

These depths of fire flicker to the backyard, then return to me, and I understand. This is how he will punish me. Public humiliation, putting me on display while he fucks me senseless. He will remind me of where I came from, treat me like the whore that I – that one night – was.

And he does. He makes me stand, naked before the window, my palms to the glass, his hands on my ass cheeks, fucking me so hard that my breasts bounce from the impact. I feel the sting of his hand, against my ass, while his words spit out hard and unforgiving, “You belong to me. You are mine.”

The landscapers, bless their hearts, keep their eyes low, focus on their work. But I know they see. They see when he forces me to my knees, his hand firm on my head, my bare body before his clothed one. They see when I take his cock deep down my throat, my body shaking from the effort, when my back contracts and I gag. They see when his thighs flex and his eyes close and he fills my throat with satisfaction.

But that’s not the worst of it. The worst of it I am ashamed to say, ashamed to admit to myself. The worst is that, even at the height of it, even when I felt their eyes, and hated Nathan’s demands, I was aroused. Panting in my pussy, moisture dripping down my leg, aroused. I moaned when he spanked me. I begged for more as he fucked me. I looked into his eyes and asked for his cum.

I know. I am as screwed up as he is.

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