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He was two years older. We were in various orchestras together as kids, and we hung out during summers. We dated in high school. He liked aggressive sex. Through his agency I learned that I was a submissive. At fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, I had not internalized the dimensions of my submission or my appetite for kink. But I took my tentative first steps with him. He went to college in New Hampshire. As his semester started a few weeks before I headed out to Chicago, I followed him up in my car. It was Labor Day. Principally because of perpendicular politics, we bickered constantly. More than a decade later, I no longer recall the genesis of our fight, but by the time we had transferred boxes from our cars to his apartment in the unremitting heat and humidity of the late afternoon, I remember inhabiting a state of all consuming fury. We arrived at the apartment before his roommate. I made his bed while he made a beer and grocery run. In his absence, I resolved to make peace. When he returned, we sat on the mattress, clinked bottles, and drank Sam Adams. He kissed me. His hand reached inside my t-shirt, slipped beneath the bra, and cupped my breasts. I squeezed the erection that tented his shorts. He said something to me. It was an unfunny observation. I pulled away. "Fuck you." "What's your problem?" he asked, anger barely restrained. "Fuck you," I repeated. "That's an idea." He leaned his weight onto me so that I was flat on the bed and kissed me again. I turned my head to the side to avoid his mouth. My arms shoved his chest. His hips rutted at mine. I attempted to push him away. He is stronger than I am. He snatched both of my wrists in one of his big hands and brought them high over my head. The mass of his body on top of me checked my efforts to squirm free. Though I kicked at him, his knees pried my legs apart. The hardness at his loins rode against my pelvis. My cunt was wet. He dry humped me through our clothes. I was aroused beyond measure. I was also pissed off. It must have showed. "Bitch," he said. "Asshole." One of my arms slipped loose. Balling the hand into a fist, I hit his back above the shoulder blade. The liberty was short lived. He pinned my wrists to the bed before long. I swore at him. "Cunt monkey," he taunted. The grip on my wrists tightened. Eyes that were full of challenge locked with mine. I glared at him.Monkey was one of the safewords that we had used. He smiled at me smugly, mockingly, knowingly. "Bastard," I spit and bit his bottom lip. He laughed. "I am going to break you. And you're going to enjoy it." He cuffed my face and held me down by the throat. While I elbowed ineffectually at his shoulders, he unfastened my belt with his left hand, popped the button at the fly, and forced the zipper open. A determined tug brought the blue corduroy shorts down to my knees. The panties swiftly followed. Holding me immobile as I struggled, he repeated the exercise on his end, undressing enough to extract his penis. We generally used condoms. This time, however, we did not. He muscled into my pussy. Once he had slid in to the balls, my cunt had her say. The pelvic floor elevated. The muscles of my vagina clenched the shaft. Snakelike, serpentine, my body undulated beneath him. He moved slowly, purposefully, with a profound intent. I clutched the sheets on either side of my head. Seemingly of its own volition, my pelvis flared out. I made a conscious effort to focus my previous indignation into this engagement and found that I could not. This wasn't a grudge fuck. Nor was it absolution for him or for me. We weren't having make up sex after an argument. Simply, the ire had burned away in the crucible of desire. "You're my whore." He stated this as a fact. Silence held a beat. "I'm your whore," I conceded. "Show me." I yanked the shorts and bikini panties off. My legs wrapped his. On his descent, my hips launched me to the stars. His weight returned me to earth. I sunk into the worn out mattress. The bedsprings poked my back when he bottomed out. He withdrew halfway, grabbed my breasts for purchase, and hauled me onto his rigid erection. My body shook as the cock slammed in and shuddered to a halt. His lips pressed hard against mine. I offered him my tongue. We were moving, together. I have no conception of how long we fucked. I do know that my climax approached first. He noticed, too. "Not yet. Come with me." I nodded. His penis was painted with white paste. He accelerated the pace. The thrusts came harder. I felt each movement as a jolt in my spine. I concentrated on not creaming, on not gushing, on not letting my cunt reverse polarity. I shuttered my eyes and ground my jaws. My face contorted into an ugly grimace. The single-mindedness of my purpose was as well realized through nails, which clawed his biceps and back. By willpower alone, I contained my pussy. He dug deep, his movements becoming chaotic. And at the cusp of consummation, he stopped. I looked up at him. He smiled. Previously steely eyes had become soft. He pushed his weight off the bed and into me once more. The shaft began to convulse. It cocked and released. Heat spread through my cunt. I surrendered. The walls of my vagina buckled as resistance gave out. The orgasm seeped from every pore. I flooded. It was the first time I squirted. The explosion of ejaculate from my vagina expelled his cock from my body. The fountain made an arc that saturated his pubis and my thighs. It drenched the barely used plaid bedspread. The weekend passed in movements of ecstasy. belayhand comment