Spoiler/Trigger warning - This story contains a brief description of the rape of a minor from the standpoint of the victim. It is a plot device to explain the character's behavior and motivations. It is not intended to be salacious or erotic in any way. It also goes into a little about the treatment of the victim and the long-term psychological damage on the victim and those around her. My research on this was brief so apologies in advance for any unintended errors.
But ultimately this is a love story and an exploration of the protagonist's growth as a man and a lover. I enjoyed writing it and hope you will enjoy it too.
Act 1
Mariella set down her iPad and pursed her lips, tilting her head and looking at me across the breakfast table.
"No good?" I said.
She shook her head. "No. It's really good. Maybe one of your best really. The characters are believable, the story flows nicely and the sex is really hot. It's just ..."
"What?"
"Reid, why are all your male protagonists so ... uhm ... passive?"
I had been writing and self publishing short form erotic fiction for a little over a year after numerous rejections of my more mainstream short story collections. I had a very small but enthusiastic following on a few publishing sites and was generating some decent revenue through Patreon. Not enough to allow me to write full time of course, which is why I was working as an Export/Import specialist for a major package and logistics company in Phoenix. My live-in girlfriend Mariella was always my first reader.
"How do you mean?" I asked.
"Well, they're always great guys. Good looking, sensitive and maybe a little 'hard to get' for one reason or another. Some women find that irresistible and really sexy. But sexually they just aren't very dominant or aggressive."
I was a little hurt by this. "I don't think that's very fair."
Mariella came around the table and sat on my lap, her iPad in hand. She kissed my cheek "Don't be hurt querido. But look ... here ... in Act 3. Melissa clearly wants Geoffry to make the first sexual move but he's hesitant. She had to do it. And again in Act 7 .... they've had sex several times already in the story but Melissa is still initiating and she ends up riding him to orgasm just like every other encounter."
I tickled Mariella a little and chuckled "You mean like you like doing most of the time?"
She didn't giggle and gently pushed my hands away. "No baby, I don't like doing that most of the time. I sort of ... need to."
I froze. My heart skipped a little. "Mariella?" In our 3 years together it was the first time I had even a hint of any concerns between us sexually. We made love several times a week and as far as I could tell she always had an orgasm.
She was quiet for what seemed like forever. Finally she said "Reid, you're a sensitive, creative and attentive lover. And you have a very nice cock ..."
"Thank you ... but?" I said. My heart was starting to pound.
"Buuuut, you just aren't very dominant when it comes to sex. I love the fact that you're such a gentle lover, but every once in a while ... I'd ... like ..." She paused..
"What? You'd like what?"
She lowered her head, her long brunette waves covering her face. "Sometimes I wish you would just fuck me."
I was a little shocked. Not by her language, Mariella was an accomplished bi-lingual cusser, but by the implications of what she was saying. Since the very first time we had made love she always told me how wonderful it was and how she cherished how sensitive I was in bed.
My mind raced for an appropriate response. All that came out was a bit of a lame "We fuck ... don't we?"
She looked up at me, her eyes were pleading. "No querido. You make love, and beautifully. But when I ride you ... I'm fucking you like I wish you would fuck me."
What followed in my mind was a montage of our lovemaking sessions over the last three years. So many of them ended with Mariella straddling me: on her knees or on her feet, facing me or facing away, her hands on my chest or thighs. She was a wild woman when she did that, pounding against me and driving my cock into her with a strength that bordered on violence.
Once, early on, I grabbed her hips and tried to slow her down. I remembered saying "Hey ... easy. I don't want to hurt you." Her response had been "You ... won't ... hurt ... me." delivered in rhythm to her bouncing before she threw her head back and cried out in orgasm.
"I'm .... sorry?"
She turned towards me and wrapped her arms around my neck, burying her face into the side of my neck and whispered "Don't be sorry my love. I didn't tell you before now because I just didn't know how."
I felt a hot tear hit my shoulder. My heart almost broke. I had never, ever made her cry.
"I'll do better." was all I could think to say.
I felt her head nod before she kissed my ear and whispered "Thank you."
I just wish I knew HOW to do better.
Act 2
At heart I'm a romantic. I fall in love easily and quickly and truly enjoy wooing women. I've been told that I'm charming, gentlemanly and not hard on the eyes. I'm relatively short for a man, 5'8", but according to the few women I've been with I have decent looks, a good build and an above average and pleasingly thick penis.
I hadn't had that many partners before Mariella. A couple in college and a few on-again, off-again relationships since then. None of them were terribly sexual, more like a couple of close friends who ended up in bed for reasons neither of them fully understood. But I always wanted to please my partners and took a lot of care making sure they had an orgasm.
To me there is nothing more beautiful and erotic than a woman in the throes of orgasm. Seeing the tops of their breasts, their upper chest and neck redden as they writhe and squirm, hearing their cries or murmurs can bring me to the brink of my own climax even if I am just fingering or going down on them. It had even pushed me OVER the brink on a few rare occasions, which admittedly was a little embarrassing.
Nonetheless, when making love, all my attention was focused on the goal of giving my partner a mind-shattering orgasm before even thinking of my own needs or desires. And right up until Mariella had said what she did, I assumed that was a good thing.
I had watched my share of porn and read enough erotic fiction to know about the impossibly well-hung alpha males who ravaged women, taking their pleasure as they pleased, sometimes with regard for the woman's pleasure, sometimes not. Frankly I always looked down on them as brutish and insensitive louts who didn't deserve the beautiful women who inexplicably found them so attractive.
Which is why I was at such a loss on how and what to do to satisfy Mariella's request. I am who I am, and don't have any real desire to be anything else. I supposed I could fake my way through some sort of testosterone soaked scene from a porn movie. But me? Grunting dirty talk while mindlessly thrusting into the woman I loved? I just didn't think I could pull it off with any level of sincerity, not without some guidance or advice anyway.
Which is why I was talking to my closest friend Chuck over lunch, the closest thing to a true alpha male that I knew.
"Hey Chuck, you're ...uhm ... a ... top? Right?"
Chuck choked on his mouthful of burger, coughing and drinking some water before he choked out "Wh ... what??"
"Did I use the wrong term?"
Chuck was staring at me in disbelief but said "No ... no ... you used the right term. But man ... why the hell would you ask me that?"
Chuck and I were an unlikely pair of friends. We met in junior high school and played football together in high school. Granted he had been brought up to Varsity as a sophomore while I finished as a back-up player on the JV squad. We had kept up our friendship even though we had attended different colleges. Chuck had gone on to play Division II college football and looked like it. Well over six feet tall and 300 pounds of solid muscle with a shock of unruly red hair and a beard to match. Chuck's collegiate career and a potential long shot at the NFL ended with a tragic injury his Junior year.
