This year marks 10 years for K and I. And in those 10 years, we’ve never had “angry” sex. I’ve always wanted to, but in all honesty, when we get angry – we both get distant. Until last night.
It started on my way home from work. I missed his call, but knew he was calling to tell me to pick him up Starbucks – as he works from home. I call him back and sure enough, I was right. BUT – instead of just saying, “yes, Sir” I ask if I can just make him tea when I get home and argue about it. It’s so silly. This is a prime example of having my obedience all mapped out in my head and then for whatever reason I get combative. After a lengthy conversation and knowing I’ve screwed up, I get him tea. It was a stupid thing to argue about and I know it.
Later in the evening he goes to make a drink and realizes I’ve consolidated the mixers and he’s annoyed because it changes the taste. Additionally, I didn’t ask him if he cared. I tell him I didn’t think it was a big deal and I’ve done it before. He reminds me that’s because it doesn’t effect me and I need to ask him in the future. I get all pouty and bratty while we are watching TV. He pauses the program and asks me why and I tell him because I wanted to “play” and now he was mad so we wouldn’t and wasn’t trying to ruin anything and and and…you get the point.
He stands up, starts going upstairs and tells me to come too. I hear the bedroom door slam shut and yell no up the stairs to him. “NOW,” he bellows. I whine the whole way up and tell him it’s ruined and I don’t want to now. He grabs me by the back of my head and throws me onto the bed. I’m fighting him the whole time and he’s telling me to stop. He manhandles me and I’m soaking. He’s now fucking me. In the 10 years we’ve been fucking I can’t remember him ever fucking me so hard, so angrily. He slaps my face, slaps my clit, slaps my thighs and I swear he may rip my nipples off. He grabs me by the back of my head and shoves me to my knees. I’m choking and gagging from how hard he’s face fucking me. I beg him to just fuck me and after a firm slap to the face he says, “If I wanted to fuck you, don’t you think I’d be fucking you? Be happy I’m being intimate with you.” The wetness is dripping down my thighs. “Can’t you make me cum?” he growls, “two minutes.” Which means I have two minutes to make him cum or else… I ask him to lay down and I ride. I talk about him fucking another woman and making me his Quean again. He cums in less than two minutes and the jealousy runs through my veins: the subtle reminder that even the thought of another woman makes him blow faster than just me alone. An angry fuck that leaves me on edge: horny and wet.
He’s in the kitchen and I ask him if he’d bring me one of my ice cream bars when he comes. He tells me no and sits down. I go to get up and get it myself, he tells me no, as in no I can’t have one. Only “good girls” get ice cream and I hadn’t been one. I smirk and say, “yes, Sir.” It’s easier to say now.
Repercussions are a good thing.