I love rough, angry make up sex. The kind of sex that leaves you dirty, sweaty, sore, and breathless. And if I’m being completely honest with you, I admit that sometimes I’ll initiate an argument on purpose, just so we can make up afterwards.
But last night I didn’t have to do that.
No, last night I felt the tension as soon as he walked through the door.
I was sitting in my office at my computer, paying some bills and sipping on a cup of hot tea. I had my Facebook open and my chat was on. I had been talking to a guy that my husband doesn’t particularly care for (and, in his defense, for good reason). This guy that I was talking to (we’ll call him Army Guy), he wants to fuck me. He tells me so all the time. And I tell him no. Every time. But still, my husband knows about it and he doesn’t like him. And he doesn’t like it that I talk to him. Sometimes I think the only reason I talk to Army Guy is because my husband doesn’t want me to. It’s a rebellion thing. Tell me I can’t and I’ll prove you wrong.
When he walked in to my office, I could sense that he was in a foul mood. He started going on and on about how rotten his day had been. I listened like a good little wife. Gave him my full attention. I even apologized for his bad day.
Then he came around the desk to give me a routine ‘honey, I’m home’ kiss and he saw who I had been having a conversation with. I didn’t try to hide it. The little message box at the bottom of the screen was blinking, alerting me that I had an unread message, and it must have caught his eye.
That was the icing on the cake. The straw that finally broke the ol’ camel’s back.
I could see his eyes grow dark and he glared down at me. “Really? You’re stilltalking to him?” he hissed. He stood up straight and crossed his arms in front of him.
“He messaged me. What do you want me to do? Ignore him?” I replied.
“I’d prefer that, yes.” He told me, still glaring.
“I don’t understand why talking to him causes World War III.” I said, standing up and putting my hands on my hips. “You should trust me. I made it clear that I’m not going to sleep with him. I can’t help it that you’re insecure.”
“Insecure!?” he laughed. His eyes were wild with anger, “I might be. I mean, after all, I invited him into my home the last time he was in town and the thanks I got was him telling my wife how badly he wanted to fuck her.”
“He’s just someone to talk to.” I muttered. We had gone over this a hundred times before.
“Well I don’t like it. You know that I don’t like it. Yet you continue to do it anyway.” He barked.
“I continue to do it because I’m not going to let you dictate to me who I can and cannot talk to.” I said. I was getting angry.
Without warning, he shoved me back on the big wooden desk, nearly knocking over the black coffee mug that held my then-cold tea.
“You’re my wife.” he growled into my ear.
I was bent backwards, resting on my elbows, my ass against the desk top, breathing heavy from the sudden, unexpected physical contact. His hard body was pressed firmly up against mine.
“This,” he bit down on my ear lobe, “is mine.”
I yelped in pain and tried to push him away, but he didn’t budge.
“These,” he continued, as he slid his hands under my black satin nighty and filled each one with my C-cup breasts, “are mine.”
His touch on my naked skin gave me goosebumps.
“And this,” he sneered as his fingers crept between my legs and rubbed over the outside of my black lace g-string, “is all mine.”
I felt that familiar tingle between my legs. He was turning me on and he knew it.
“You’re my personal little fuck toy.” He growled, “No one else’s.” His fingers were still massaging my pussy through the sheer fabric.
“No one else’s.” I repeated. My body was reacting to his touch. The fabric had become damp with my juices.
“I’m going to fuck you.” he whispered, “I’m going to fuck you hard. And I don’t care if you get off or not. This is going to be just for me. You’ve been a bad girl. And bad girls don’t get rewarded.”
He stopped touching me, reached down, and undid his pants, his rock hard cock springing free like an animal that had been caged for far too long. Then he picked me up and dropped me down on top of the desk. He pushed me backwards so that my back was against the desk top and my legs were dangling over the side. Then he positioned himself between my legs, pulled my g-string to the side, and entered me.
There was no soft and slow about it. He fucked me hard from the very first thrust, stretching my pussy to accommodate his swollen cock. My hands were gripping the edge of the desk to try to keep from sliding back.
“You like that, don’t you, dollface?” he asked me through gritted teeth.
“I do.” I moaned. I loved the way it felt when he filled me.
He fucked me for a long time. With each thrust I could feel him taking out all of his anger and frustration. Punishing me. Punishing my pussy.
Finally I couldn’t hold back anymore. My pussy started squeezing around his cock as I reached orgasm. And I heard him mutter a curse word as he filled me with his cum.
He collapsed on top of me, breathing heavy, stroking my hair. And I knew that all was well with us again.
My pussy ached. My arms were burning from the way that I had been holding on to the desk. I had sweat dripping off my forehead. I was trying to catch my breath.
And that was just the way I liked it.
