Fighting Dirty

We’d been fighting all fucking day.

I wasn’t entirely sure about what – we’d both been tired, cranky. Not too willing to compromise. It didn’t matter what the topic was, but neither of us wanted to give in the slightest bit. As a result, we were turning our moods even darker.

Even dinner did little to appease our annoyance with each other. We sat inside Chili’s, picking at our meals and one another. Finally, both of our plates reasonably clean, we paid the bill and left. The car ride back to your house wasn’t very pleasant.

“You could have at least acted like you liked me in public,” I muttered.

“You hardly talked,” you scoffed, glaring at the road.

“Would it have killed you to make conversation?”

“Would it have killed you?”

We ended up in silence, my arms folded stubbornly and your hands gripping the steering wheel like it was my neck.

“Maybe you should just go home,” you grunted at me as we pulled into your driveway. This earned you quite the dirty look.

“Are you trying to get rid of me?” My back was up already, this certainly was not helping.

You sighed and turned off the car. “Well, fine, stay. But stop being so crabby.”

“I am not crabby!” I snapped, and shoved the door open. “Maybe if you were a little bit nicer to me . . .”

This started off a whole new round of arguments, each of which was more pointless than the last. Deep down, we both probably knew that we were fighting about nothing. That, really, neither of us was particularly mad. But we were pissed in general, and that seemed to fuel our fight well enough.

“You need to get a sleep schedule,” I was advising you as we stormed into your bedroom. You slammed the door shut behind yourself.

“You need to get a sleep schedule,” you said back, not the most mature of responses, but hey.

“I’m not the cranky one.”

Your eyes flashed. “Fine,” you snarled, and shoved me back onto your bed. “Let’s see how mean and cranky I am.” You started to jump down on top of me, but I scrambled out of the way.

“What are you doing?” I demanded.

You grabbed my ankles and flipped me onto my back again. “Beating you up.”

“You can’t beat me up.” I turned up onto my knees and tried to climb on top of you, but you pushed me back again. “You’re being an ass.”

You slammed your body on top of mine and stole my breath away momentarily, and suddenly, all the frustration and irritation that had been piling up all day spilled out of us both. We rolled around on top of the bed, jabbing and pulling and hitting. Just as I managed to yank your arm behind your back, you twisted and dragged me beneath you.

“Get off me!” I wriggled beneath you, my knee nearly hitting your sensitive parts. I almost got my fists into your hair, but you shot out your hand and clutched both my wrists within its grasp. Leaning back, you tugged me into a sitting position, shoving my back hard against the wall and kneeling over my legs.

“I can’t beat you up, huh?” you taunted. “I think I just won.”

I started wriggling again, but my efforts were doing little to alleviate the situation. The neat, white button-down shirt I wore began to bunch up over my breasts, and from your angle above me, you could see my supple cleavage heaving beneath the fabric. The lacey edges of my white bra became visible, and, feeling the reaction these glimpses were drawing from you as it hardened on my leg, I stopped moving. “Get off me,” I repeated.

“Get off you,” you echoed, and you sounded like you were about to start laughing. “Fuck that. You bitched at me all day. I’m getting at least something I want.” Before I can even realize what you’re doing, you dove into my cleavage, your hot mouth streaking over my skin.

I tried to get out of your grasp, but you held firm. With your free hand, you seized the front of my shirt and yanked it open. The pretty, white buttons popped off, flying out of the way of your mouth.

Your lips, your tongue, your teeth . . . they all skated over the skin you’d bared, taking, taking whatever you wanted. I struggled, finally managing to pull my breasts away from your hungry mouth, only to have you push harder against me.

“Be still!” you snapped at me. I glared down at you, moving more simply to disobey, and you brought the hand that wasn’t still holding my wrists up to my jaw, forcing me to face you. “Be still,” you repeated, but this time your voice was quiet. And very, very cold.

I remained glaring, but your words struck a subtle fear in the depths of my body. At the same time, they drew a sleek shot of excitement through my soul.

I watched, breathless, as your head drew near to my breast again. Your dark eyes shot up to mine as your lips softly grazed the skin just above my bra, then parted. Your teeth gripped the very edge of the lace, then yanked.

I gasped, shocked at the sharp movement as well as the cool air suddenly embracing my exposed breast. It now lay on top of the lacey scrap, the pale nipple puckering temptingly.

I was still furious with you. Granted, I didn’t know quite why, but the reasons were adding up.

“Let me go,” I hissed. I had to get you to stop touching me. I already felt how wet this was making me, but I refused to give you such satisfaction. “Now.”

You knelt again, your head coming near to mine. “No.” Your fingers reached down, lazily circled my exposed nipple. “You want this.”

“No, I don’t.” I started struggling yet again. “Stop touching me, you asshole.”

You grinned. A slow, almost frightening grin. “What was that, sweetheart?”

“Stop touching me,” I spat out, pausing slightly between each word. “Which part don’t you understand?”

Your hand closed tightly over my breast. “This is mine,” you told me. “I can touch it whenever, or however, I want.” You kneaded the tender tissue in your palm roughly, and despite the slight pain it caused, I was incapable of forcing back my moan. You grinned again, and drew your hand back slightly, pinching my nipple between your cruel, cruel fingers. It became even harder under your knowing ministrations, and as much as I hated the desperate, mewling sounds I was making, I was helpless to stop them.

“It’s too bad you pissed me off today,” you said, idly, as if you were just making conversation. “ ‘Cause now, I really don’t feel like pleasuring you. Torturing, maybe.” You squeezed my nipple, hard, and I cried out.

“That fucking hurt.”

You played with it again, softly, teasing me into complacency. “But I’d really prefer you to pleasure me.”

“You have got to be kidding,” I scoffed. “You’re a jerk all day, and then you expect me –“

You pushed me, face-first, onto the bed. You managed to pull both my arms behind my back, and you slipped something – it feels silky, I’m thinking a tie – between my wrists and around them, trapping them. You rolled me over onto my back.

“You’re fucking right I expect you,” you said, and even as I kicked my jean-clad legs, figuring I could at least run for it or something, you lifted me and set me onto the ground. On my knees.

“Oh, am I supposed to take the hint now?” I asked, sarcastically, though I truly felt powerless. There was very little I could do to fight back at this point. Even if I did manage to get onto my feet and open the door without the use of my hands, even if I reached the stairs without you catching me, there remained an unsolvable dilemma: your parents were downstairs, and all I was wearing, aside from my jeans, was a white shirt that no longer had buttons, and a white bra, which happened to be entirely visible. Shit.

“Take the hint?” You stood up, undid your pants, and dropped both them and your boxers to the floor. “Honey, this is a fucking neon sign.” And without further warning, you shoved your cock inside my mouth.

You must have known – it wouldn’t have been difficult to guess – that I was not going to willingly start sucking, so you took it into your own hands. Your fingers tangled in my hair and dragged my lips over your cock, forcing it in and out. You started out slowly, watching with obvious satisfaction as you pushed inside my mouth. I glared up at you for a while, but then I decided that you were enjoying meeting my eyes as I gave you head – or rather, you gave you head, I was just some sort of sex toy – and I quickly closed them.

It wasn’t long before you’d quickened your pace. You’d already been quite aroused – your dick had already been throbbing the moment you’d unzipped your jeans, so I knew you had to be getting close. I wriggled my hands furiously in their knotted confinement, determined to free them, and in your heady state, you weren’t likely to notice.

You were pulling my hair as you fucked my mouth, your hips rocking your cock down my throat. Your balls slapped against my chin, making me feel so used and helpless, but those same feelings were forcing me to feel a bit . . . hot and bothered. Just as I faced that rather shocking revelation, my hands slid free, and I thanked God that your knot wasn’t strong enough to hold me any longer.

I pressed my hands against your hips, pushing against you, but you just pushed harder, nearly gagging me with your cock. I couldn’t believe you had the nerve, the audacity, to force yourself inside my mouth.

I was so pissed, and frustrated, and couldn’t help still fighting. I didn’t want to let you win. But the fact that you wouldn’t let me win either . . . the fact that no matter how hard I pushed, you pushed right back . . . the fact that regardless of what I did, you would always be stronger than me . . . it made me feel vulnerable, and submissive, and, well, taken.

I rather liked being taken.

Not that I was about to let you know that.

“Come on, sweetheart,” you panted, “suck it.” You pumped into my mouth, abandoning the idea of forcing yourself deep down my throat and losing control to the short, quick jabs that were fast bringing you to the delirious brink of orgasm.

I still wasn’t sucking, but nor was I pushing. I decided I’d have to find a different way to regain control, so I gave in to the rigorous fucking of my face, almost relishing in the naughtiness, the dirtiness of it. And then, just as you were about to spill yourself down my throat, I snaked one hand between your thighs, and thrust my finger up your ass.

“Fuck!” Your hand was plastered over the back of my skull, driving your flooding cock deeper. Your cream poured down my throat, and I desperately tried to swallow it all. You sank back onto your bed, my finger sliding from your ass and the last pearly drop of your cum disappearing as I licked it from my lower lip.

I remained on my knees for a moment, observing silently as you laid back and tried to catch your breath. Well, good, I thought, rising slowly, my mind made up. Maybe I didn’t mind being taken, but I’ve had quite enough of that tonight. Let’s see how he likes it.

I quickly unbuttoned my clingy jeans and tugged them off. You shifted, leaning back on your elbows so that you could look at me. Your cock hadn’t softened at all after you came, so I couldn’t tell if the sight of me in the girly white bra-and-panties set, only covered my ruined top, was doing anything for you, but I felt pretty fucking sexy. I hooked my fingers into the waistband of the cheeky panties, beginning to pull them off, when you finally spoke.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

I abandoned my panties on the floor and climbed over you, my pussy brushing the tip of your cock as I scooted toward your face. “You’re going to return the favor,” I told you, confident, pausing to smile down at you and allow you a moment to admire my neatly shaved cunt. You didn’t seem impressed.

“I told you I didn’t feel like pleasuring you tonight,” you said. “Didn’t I?”

“I don’t give a shit,” I replied, sliding over your face. Despite my bravado, I almost cried in relief the moment your tongue flickered over my clit. God, I needed to cum so badly . . .

Suddenly, I found myself uprooted from my heavenly position and thrown back onto the bed. You glared down at me, wiping the slight shimmer my pussy juice left from your face. “I told you,” you repeated. “You shouldn’t have pissed me off.”

“It’s not like you’re the most agreeable person,” I retorted, my frustration so sharp that I could hardly think straight. “Just . . . lick it, honey, sweetie . . . just for a little while . . .”

You looked rather amused at my desperation. “What’s the matter, babe? Need a little something?”

“Yes!” I got back up onto my knees, grabbing your hand and trying to push it where I so needed it to be, but you refused to be led. Apparently you weren’t finished with your little power trip.

My excitement heightened.

You stood up, yanking your shirt off along the way. “Get up.”

“No. You come here.” I laid back, my cunt itching for attention. I slid my hands over my body, letting my fingers find my stiff clit and start to rub.

You grabbed my hand and pulled me to my feet. “I didn’t tell you to touch yourself.”

“I don’t give a fu – oh!” You picked me up and shoved me, roughly, against the wall. Your hands ignored the flimsy material covering my breasts, tearing it aside to expose the pointed tips. The aggressive fondling started again, almost painfully persuading my nipples into rock-solid peaks. I moaned, loud and delirious on the rich pleasure.

“You like me dominating you, don’t you?” you hissed, twisting my nipples only hard enough to make me squeal. You ground against me, your hard cock rubbing into the small tuft of hair remaining on my pussy. I shook my head defiantly, but I’m almost weeping with the bliss of it all. “Don’t you?” I couldn’t even answer that time, but you, apparently, wouldn’t accept that. Still massaging a tit with one hand, you used the other hand to skate over my stomach and plunge into my wet cunt.

I nearly fell over. My legs were shaking now, and I couldn’t even thinking as you finger-fucked me toward orgasm. “Fucking answer me,” you growled, slamming your fingers inside me violently.

“Yes – yes,” I managed.

“Yes what?” Christ, I should have known you wouldn’t let me off that easy.

“Yes, I like you to t-take me,” I stammered, my head tipping back as my hips matched the plunging of your fingers.

“Who do you belong to?” you demanded, ceasing all movement as you watched me. My back arced, stretching, hoping for more contact.

“No, honey, touch, touch . . .” I knew I was whining, I knew it, I just no longer cared. I reached with my own fingers again, giving in to my desperation, but you caught both my wrists, each of your hands pressing one of mine to wall on either side of my head.

“Look at me,” you said, firmly. My eyes were still closed, my body still wriggled, my breath still coming fast. I’d been close, very close, and I was in no mood for conversation, but apparently, I hadn’t the choice. “Look at me,” you said again, your face inches from mine.

My eyes blinked open slowly, and it took me a moment to remember exactly what was happening. My frustration had come to a jagged point. “What?” I demanded.

“Who do you belong to?” You edged closer, and I could feel the tip of your cock slipping between the folds of my pussy. You rubbed, ever-so-subtly.

“I –“

You pushed closer, trapping my body with your own. Your cock was primed to slip inside of me, and I tried to maneuver myself over it, to get at least the full head in, but you were unmaneuverable. “Make it easy on yourself,” you said, your voice cool, but heating up and becoming almost fierce at your next words. “Tell me who the fuck you belong to.”

I stared up at you, breathless and angry and frustrated and wanting, God, wanting, and knew you’d won. “You,” I moaned. “I’m all yours, only yours . . .”

And suddenly I was filled, my wet, dripping pussy filled to the brink with hot, hard cock. You fucked me harder than you ever had before, yanking my legs up around your waist and ramming yourself into me like an animal, bruising my hips with your grip and purpling my inner thighs with your force. Forget animal, you were a monster, pillaging my body for what you wanted and needed.

My moans told you of my approval, of my own desire, and urged you on. As you pounded my passion-ridden body, you finally had to slap a hand over my mouth, silencing the sounds of pleasure that were surely heard throughout your house. You were wild, feverish, as you neared climax, drawing me in with you. Your hands dropped, gripping my ass in each palm as you drove the last strokes inside of me. Our ecstatic, involuntary cries mixed into one as we were both thrown into hot, violent orgasms.

***

I blinked as if I were waking up to an entirely new day, my lids heavy, my eyes tired. My body felt as if every ounce of energy had been sucked from it, but dear, dear Lord, had it been worth it.

We were still standing; or rather, you were still standing, cupping my ass, and I was still wrapping my legs around your waist. We both gleamed with sweat, and the smell of sex was thick in the air.

“Wow,” I managed.

“Fuck,” you agreed.

We looked at each other for a moment, then began to smile. “You know, we didn’t even kiss on the lips once,” you said, leaning against me comfortably.

“Well,” I replied, my expression sharpening, “if you were a bit nicer to me . . .”