Sexual Territory

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By: Cara Sutra

He shows me who’s boss with rough sex and rape play.

Bondage women isolated on a black background

There was no denying him that night, even if I’d wanted to. Those dark eyes gazed at me with even more intensity than usual. Not just at me; over me. Up and down my body, stretched out naked next to him on the bed, already tired and bruised from the previous night’s exertions. Exertions that were with another.

Mono in our genders, I have the freedom to sate my need for girl-sex with his full knowledge and approval. They give me something he can’t; he gives me something they can’t. He likes that fact. The only man. Not a slave, a ‘real man’. The only cock that gets to fuck me, to feel me. To make me beg, bleed, scream and cry.

Still, the knowledge that someone else has plundered his lady, even if it is a girl, draws the possessiveness out in him. Not a negative, unhealthy jealousy; an enjoyable realization of attraction and passion. A reminder to us both that we lust for each other as well as love one another. All day when I returned home to him I’d caught him silently looking at me with ‘that’ look, then sidling up for a quick grope of his woman, or whispering promised threats that made my cunt sing with anticipation.

Life dictated that we had to wait until bedtime, but the wait made our passion concentrated and undeniable. This wasn’t to be a lazy, sleepy fuck. It was going to be an explosion of desire and possession.

As his eyes relished seeing my body next to him, naked, his, ready for the taking, my skin prickled with goosebumps. Anticipation reaching its peak before the moment is properly realized. I had the sudden realization that my throat was so dry, but there was no time to remedy that. Not with water, in any case.

A click and his laptop closed. Another movement and it was on the floor. It was time. I had been staring at him for a while, I realized. Curious to know how his desire, which had been so obvious all day through looks and feel, would manifest itself once we had time alone together. I know him, of course. I knew he’d take me back and hard – reclaiming me good and proper for both our enjoyment.

He moved on his side to face me, both of us on top of the bed. His nose almost touching mine. There’s no argument which could ever be brooked with those dark eyes, brooding doesn’t even come close. Determined? Of course. Expectant. Dominant. In control. To be obeyed without question or hesitation. To stare into them means to know this is what you really want, to know your own mind and be strong enough to go where it and he leads. I’m proud enough to face those eyes openly and without hiding or running. They were out of focus range, suddenly… and his mouth was on mine, tasting and invading. The first penetration.

The sense of additional warmth the length of my body, not just his body moving close against mine as he pulled me towards him, but the thrill of the day’s thoughts realized. A momentary daze and I was kissing him back with just as much enthusiasm. A wordless communication that I wanted him, fuck, please take me now. Our legs tangled in that familiar way and his hands held my face still with one, the other hand moving from hip to waist to breast to toy with my nipple. A nipple which seemed to be directly wired to my clit.

More reminding myself to breathe, more tongue enveloping the other’s, more fingers in each other’s hair and a rapid tempo increase to proceedings. He broke away from me suddenly, ripped off his boxers and kicked them out of the bed. Returning to laying on his back he thrust my head down forcefully and made me suck his cock, which I doubt could be any bigger or harder. The type of erection which you’d swear was on a hair-trigger, except he has more control than that, of course. The hands-free cock-bobbing was soon stilled by my eager to please mouth, ready to please him in the ways only I can.

My tongue licked around the collar of his cock, underneath that sensitive ridge just beneath the head and lingering a moment to flick over his frenulum. His sharply drawn breath and ensuing moans just spurred me on to be the best cock-sucker ever for him. I could feel my cunt aching with the need of him to fuck and fill me, but I enjoyed the denial while I turned my attention to giving him sensational oral. I swirled my tongue over the head of his cock, making it even shinier than it had been and lapping up the first secretions of pre-cum in the process. They served to add to my thirst, not sate it. It was all I could do to keep my mouth wet enough to lubricate his engorged shaft, pursed tight lips making their way down every inch slowly at first, followed by teasing tongue over his skin. My cheeks drawn in as much as possible to create a tight welcome for him to fuck, up and down slowly then faster and faster until I lost what semblance of control I had and he took the power back.

His hands in my hair forcing my head up and down on his cock, so passionately that his cock would hit the back of my throat hard and threaten to fuck beyond what I could tolerate. I gasped and spluttered, as much as I could with him filling my mouth, but it just turned him on even more. My saliva felt as if it would drown me, and I couldn’t pay attention to skill or technique any more, I could barely draw the breaths I needed. His grunts above me seemed miles away but still spurred me on to continue, to suffer and endure for his pleasure as I knew he wanted me to. When I swallowed on the tip of his cock, it pushed him over that edge. A flood of hot cum and I managed to take it down, swallowing his load like a good girl. A mess, a receptacle, a breathless shaky puddle, but a good girl nevertheless.

There was no time to think about being too tired to carry on. My body was worn out from the previous night and sucking his cock was never a relaxing affair, but he wanted more. So did I, really, I just needed pushing. Harder, more. I don’t think I’d even finished swallowing every drop of cum in my mouth before he pulled me astride him, leaving me to position my sopping cunt around his still hard cock. Yes, he’s still hard after an orgasm. No, I’m not making it up.

My pussy was swollen with arousal and my desire tangible by the wet mess around my labia and upper inner thighs. It didn’t take a lot of effort to get the just-sucked tip of his cock to slip inside me, which it did with a loud groan from both of us at once. You’d think woman on top is always to be in control but you’d be wrong. His hands encircled my waist and showed me exactly how I was to move and when, how fast, at what angle and for how long. He let me fuck his slippery cock with my matching slippery tight cunt at a thigh-muscle battering pace, and with my hips angled a certain way and my body lowering to explore his mouth with mine some more, he eventually shot his second load of the night deep inside my pussy. Marking me as his at both ends.

He’d got it out of his system, and I was desperate for release. He let me reach for my Doxy and held me while I brought myself to orgasm in the tried and tested way. My orgasm was loud, and long – I thought it would never end. The waves of sexual sensation kept lapping at me from every angle, my head suffused with the lightning crashing through it, that point somewhere deep in my cunt exploding with pure selfish unadulterated pleasure. Eventually they ebbed away, as they always do, and I was left to float back to earth gently while he held me in his arms.

Just before I landed properly, while the remnants of my orgasm could still be felt deep in my cunt, surrounding my clit, hanging on to my throat and mind with fingertips, he struck again. He wasn’t finished after all. If his cock had been waning after the two orgasms he’d just fucked into me, he’d made sure it was ready a third time while I’d been happily masturbating in his arms. As I let the hastily switched off Doxy slide from my hands to clonk on to the floor, he pinned me to the bed with his weight as he rose up and positioned himself between my legs. One leg over his shoulder, the other still behind him, my wrists held in one of his hands above me, his other hand opening up my just-peaked labia to shove his cock inside the saturated tunnel. Even as he entered me he looked straight at me so he could enjoy my disbelief and shock. My eyes communicating that confusing but addictive mix of hate, admiration and lust which is integral to sex with him.

My oversensitive, overstimulated cunt was not happy about this invasion so soon after climax. The jarring of my physical discomfort and overstimulation was at odds with my mental reaction, which was to love him even more in that moment. Sure, I had my word to stop him if I really wanted. I didn’t want him to stop. Not really. Not for all the “no, fuck no” I was crying out and the hoarse begging to “please stop, please” and the countless more “no”s and “stop”s I felt safe to spit at him in this mindless moment of illicit and faux-dangerous sex play. He’d carry on anyway, and that’s how I wanted it. I let myself go, let myself be his and in his control in that instant, and he fucked me so hard I was worried I’d be fucked straight through the headboard and through the wall behind. His spare hand, not the one holding my wrists together above my head, was around my throat both holding me in place and making it difficult for me to draw breath. As the delicious fear I felt in my mind surely flitted over my face, as well as the pleasure face contortions that sex brings, he just fucked me harder and faster, my terror just turning him on more. He kept his eyes on my fearful admiring ones the entire time.

When he came, he came with one definitive hard thrust and with a possessive snarl he let me know I was his. I was home and so was he. He’d reclaimed his territory and we both knew it. I am his.