He had me pinned against the wall, his chest pressed tightly against mine, his hands seizing my ribs to either side of my breasts, holding my body in place. Again and again and again, he rose up into me, forcefully, possessively, rapidly in and slowly out, hard enough that I winced a little with each powerful thrust, each lunge causing him to brush against my cervix and keep me on the tips of my toes. Yet I was enjoying it - I needed it, I craved it, I lived for it, and I definitely did not want it to stop.
It was not just the act itself which enthralled me. It was not just the person: the boy-next-door who had moved to the neighborhood in third grade and was immediately an inseparable friend, inseparable to the point that we traveled across the country together to attend the same university and finally consummate our ever-growing love. It was not just the fullness, the feeling of being rendered complete, whole, every time he embedded himself deep inside me, sheathing himself, surrounding himself with my love and my desire and my lust for him. It was not just the hot love seeping from my torso and running down my legs and dripping upon the hardwood floor, adding a scent of the forbidden to the darkened living room.
Just as fiercely as he plundered my body, I clutched at his naked, powerful shoulders, my fingernails burrowing into his well-tanned skin with the intensity of a dog wanting to rapidly bury a bone. That thought seemed particularly apt to me at the moment, as he was repeatedly burying a bone of a very different nature deep within my body.
His face pressed into my neck, his breaths were hot, hard, heavy, just like his sex. He had always been extremely quiet during sex, whether we were enjoying a slow, passionate lovemaking or a hard, rough, violent fuck. Always, the only sounds he made were those of his breathing, and perhaps - just perhaps - a soft groan as his love erupted either into me or upon me.
Myself, I has always been a screamer. Essentially, I had no inhibitions. I could let myself go, not feel hindered by what society said was polite or dainty or dignified for a woman to do or say or wear or hear or see. But that night, knowing what was ahead, knowing what was coming, knowing what we were powerless to stop, I was trying desperately to remain as silent as possible, for it was barely 3AM, and we both knew that it was best to let the ignorant mundane people enjoy their last few minutes of peace and quiet. Still, barely-restrained whimpers and moans escaped my lips between my own heavy, labored breaths, although hopefully not loud enough to be heard by the neighbors in the apartment complex... and beyond.
It was too much for me to take. The love, the hard sex pressing me into the wall, the hard sex repeatedly filling me, the future that he and I could both unwantedly see... It was simply too much to bear...
