A Rainy Morning

She wakes to the sound of rain outside, a gentle relentless falling. The sound comforts her, tells her today will be a good day. She smiles to herself, thinks of the pleasure she’ll feel as she dresses, assumes the layers of femininity in which she drapes herself until that final critical examination of her mirror pronounces her ready for the day.

She grins mischievously thinking of her lover of last night, the warm embrace, the many kisses, at first soft and tentative, gauging her willingness to permit his further advances, the first bold move his hand upon her waist, his smile as she wiggled closer to him, his cock already erect and ready beneath his trousers. Unnecessarily, she whispers, “Fuck me” in his ear, adding “With your fingers.”

He teased her, though, continuing with his caresses, which though intimate, remained peripheral. Her bare neck and shoulders, the top of her breasts, her thighs below the hem of the modest black dress. She quivered beneath his touch as he advanced, not cautiously but boldly winning her flesh with his palms and fingertips, his lips and teeth and tongue destroying her will to resist as if she had any.

He laughed softly at her moans of stifled desire and made her kneel before him, enjoying the gaze of her beautiful eyes on his face, expectant, flashing, bright with need. He made her open the trousers, her fumble with his hard sex, her fingers quivering with arousal, the steely flesh at last freed, bounding forth from his open zipper.

“Suck it,” he commanded, knowing she wanted only for him to plunge it inside her body, but cruel with his control and dominance, she opened her lips to him and let him stroke slowly inside her. He demanded she keep her eyes open, facing him as he fucked her mouth, taking her utterly, his rough palms cradling her head in total possession. She wiggled and drooled over herself and his pants legs but he used her, felt her relax as he took more and more of her mouth and finally her throat. She felt a hot blush of shame as he laughed when she opened fully for him.

“That’s a good whore,” he said calmly, “Earn your wage. Suckle me well, bitch,” and other endearments for which she knew he’d apologize unconvincingly later as he cuddled her.

He came copiously in her throat, almost choking her but not quite. She cried as she felt his orgasm pulse down her throat into her stomach. In a lesser man, she’d feel she now possessed him but there was no such illusion here. She served as receptacle to his passionate issue and knew she’d never be able to resist his attentions.

Then he snatched her up off of her knees and kissed her once on the top of her head before turning her away from him. She held herself up on her palms, arms straight, her breasts bouncing inside her bra and dress. Up came her dress hem, then that of the pretty slip she’d worn, then he shoved her panties down around her thighs. His fingers found her, finally, her pussy soaking wet and hot with need. He pressed two fingers inside her, teasing and inspecting her readiness, then fucked her carelessly before he suddenly withdrew his fingers and plunged his cock inside her. Her tears continued as the thoughts she’d had of a romantic encounter were replaced with this friendly ravaging. She enjoyed being taken, indeed, trembled with the thoughts of his using her so callously, and then the sensation of his rude fucking of her pussy overcame her emotions and filled her with lust.

She pressed against him, tried fruitlessly to match his rhythm, allowed herself to be his plaything once more. She knew somewhere deep within that this man would know sorrow, would be filled with guilt at memories of his crude use of her body. The next days would be filled with flowers, sweet notes of apology, gentle caresses of true love, whispered endearments. She’d push him away for a bit, deny him any succor, but gradually open herself to his entreaties, accepting at last some little kindness, then another, finally permitting him some true intimate caress until at last she let him make love to her properly, ardently but politely as befit his one true love, ensuring she find satisfaction and contentment in his arms.

None of this would prevent the repeat of the cycle, endlessly, the story of their relationship. For in time, he’d sense she wished to be dominated and used again.

She paused in her reverie to examine the memory of the time he bound her to their bed, spanked her with a wooden paddle from his college days, and then fucked her until she came noisily beneath him, her orgasm intense and deeply fulfilling. She surprised him by interrupting his kissing of her reddened nethers by having him repeat the performance, this time the paddle stinging her bright red, his rude fucking then disappearing inside her hot wet hole, the both of them drowning inside their lust, her orgasm so complete she fainted under him.

She woke to feel his kisses and tongue working over the stinging torment of her bottom. She arched her back, pushed against his scratchy face, and whispered hoarsely, “Again!” This time he argued and she swore at him he’d never have her again unless he complied. No explanation, no elaboration, just her adamant demand to which he finally complied.

He couldn’t come this time but witnessed her third orgasm with both of them sobbing in pain and fear. When he begged her forgiveness she laughed and slapped his cheek. They checked carefully and found only a few bruises but at his insistance she made an appointment for professional examination.

She made him go with her to her doctor, a middle-aged woman who’d apparently seen everything. The two women exchanged glances and upon first glance of the bruises, the woman looked upon the husband with a fierce glare of hatred he’d visibly shrunk from. The physician shook her head, looked him in the eye, and said, “She owns you,now,” then she dismissed him to wait in the outer room while she dressed the wounds, him not knowing whether the police would arrive or the press to take pictures and publicize the worst case of spousal abuse recorded.

His wife came out, however, limping slightly and with a smile upon her face. In the car, she sat gingerly then faced him, grimacing a bit with the discomfort of turning on her sore bottom, but smiling, explaining, “I told her that I made you do it, truly, and I kept on until she believed me. I agreed to share you with her. She’ll call, you’ll come, and do whatever she wants. Forever. I give you permission, no indeed, I insist you fuck her if that’s what she wants. You must promise me to tell me every time, every detail, however.”

The doctor never called. Curious, he queried his wife who grinned mischievously and told him the doctor preferred the attentions of young women. She apologized for misleading him and kissed his confusion away. He found he loved his wife fiercely and without reservation. She never bade him spank her again.

He burned the paddle in the barbecue grill on a weekend day and sipped a beer until the flames died and nothing but coals remained.

(We share the same doctor but when I asked her about it, she just smiled and told me I wouldn’t believe the things that she has seen. Any possible abuse is referred to the authorities, she maintained, and anyone subjected to it is referred to counseling.)