Maggie had been riding him for nearly a half hour, every second of which was spent willing herself away from orgasm. Tom knew just how easy it was for her to come when she was on top, and she knew that was exactly why he had insisted on that position. This time, almost two months had passed since she last saw him, and she had begun to lose hope.
But she had been strong and kept herself from calling him or mutual acquaintances. Not that she hadn't considered, quite a few times, calling him under the pretence that someone had called and hung up and she was only checking to see if it might be him. Once she started to dial his number to tell him he had left something there. He hadn't left anything, of course, so that meant she would have to buy something and pretend she thought it was his. And that would lead to him thinking she was entertaining other men.
That little deception was alluring, because if he thought she was moving on, maybe he could suddenly see something another man might. And that, in turn, could lead to the rekindling of their relationship. She hadn't taken their breakup well. Although on the outside she appeared fine, indifferent even. But everything inside her was screaming in agony. Thankfully, she had made hiding vulnerabilities an art.
He reached up and squeezed her breasts together, kneading them roughly. Her legs were beginning to ache, so she relieved them a little by bracing her hands on his chest.
He looked up at her, infuriatingly cool and calm. "How long are you going to pretend you don't want to come?"
When she was on top, the curve of his penis hit that perfect spot. She was dangerously close to the edge, but she was determined to hold back, to prove that she was in control. It was a stupid, futile attempt, because she knew that it wasn't true
The entirety of their relationship had seemed nothing but a platform for him to prove her subordination. There was the time he had rubbed her own juices on conspicuous parts of her body and sent her to work smelling of sex. Or the time he elicited a hand job from her while they sat across a desk from the agent who was preparing his taxes....the time he had fingered her in the back of a taxi, coaxing the wetness from her until her skin stuck to the vinyl seat, when the driver's knowing eye had flashed across hers. He hadn't done any of those things because they were sexy, or because he was adventurous or passionate or anything else. He had done them to humiliate her, to test and push her, to see how much she would take without protest. Apparently, she would take a lot.
She snuck another peek at him through a curtain of her hair. He still had that smile and light in his eyes, but it wasn't a happy light. It was one of menacing humor.
"Come on. Come. I know you want to. You know you want to." He grabbed her hips and forced her violently, painfully, down on him.
What was really painful is that this was, in fact, going to make her come. She tried to think of something else so she wouldn't come. She wasn't going to come this time. She could at least leave herself with that dignity, if there was any dignity to be claimed.
He flipped them over abruptly so he was on top of her, and threw her legs over his shoulders. Her knees were now pressed against her own shoulders. He smiled a huge, spiteful smile.
"There. Now you can only stop yourself from coming if you can stop me."
He thrust into her so hard and so deep she thought he would drive her straight through the bed. He was going to win this one too. She couldn't stop him, not that she wanted to. And she was going to come. He reached up, between her raised and folded legs, and touched her cheek gently. The maliciousness of his smile was momentarily hidden.
"Come on, Angel, come for me. Will you come for me?"
He knew exactly how to twist the knife. She was disgusted by herself, because she could almost believe he cared. She wanted to believe he cared. Dealing the final blow, he slowed his pace, moving slow and deep, pulling out so only the tip of him rested against her, and then plunging deep again.
She couldn't fight it anymore. She was coming. He laughed as he began to pound her furiously again, intensifying the orgasm he had lured from her with the facade of kindness.
"You know what we've never done?"
He pulled out of her and flipped her over again, so she was lying on her stomach. As he raised himself to his knees between her legs, he took hold of her hips and pulled her lower half up, so she was on her knees and her upper half was still pressed into the bed. When he spit on his fingers and rubbed it between her raised cheeks, she knew what he was going to do. Before her orgasm had even subsided, he had already been forming a plan to push her further, knowing she would be vulnerable.
"Tom, wait..."
She wasn't sure why she would even try to stop him. He wouldn't stop, and even she knew her attempt lacked conviction. This was just something else to take from her. He pushed into her ass hard, to the hilt, and without caution. She cried out and buried her face in the blankets. She tried to bring herself out of the fog of pain, which he was forcing her further into by pounding her virgin ass so mercilessly.
This was just so appropriate. It was the sum of their entire relationship made physical. He was doing exactly what he wanted, and she would let him do it. One time they had taken a trip to Vegas and Tom was playing at the blackjack tables. When he was tired of losing, he made a hundred dollar bet with the man sitting next to him that he could get Maggie to give him head right there under the table. That hundred dollars was the only money he won all weekend. A guard escorted her from the casino and explained to her, in no uncertain terms, that she was no longer welcome there. Tom had pretended not to know her. She waited for him to return to their hotel room, and when he did, seven hours later, he smelled of a perfume she didn't wear. She never said anything about any of it. Strange how she had ignored the bad things, and only thought of how wonderful he was for taking her on a vacation.
He pushed her head and neck into the bed. The way her face was grating against the bed, she wished she had invested in softer sheets. She was in pain, and a lot of it, but there was no point in even mentioning it. He wouldn't stop, or be gentler. Asking him to do either would only excite him further.
"I really like you like this." She could hear the smile in his voice. "How I can only see your ass and pussy. It's nice, like your my own personal fuck toy."
She made a mistake, and at the worst time. She moaned. Although it was certainly a moan of pain, he wouldn't see it that way.
"You like this, don't you?"
He laughed and smacked her ass. That caused a moan that was definitely one of pleasure. More than hurting her, he loved making her enjoy what he did. But she was sure he knew that hurt worse than anything, making her want the mistreatment. He made her betray herself over and over again. But it's not like she didn't know what she was doing. It was a twisted, almost good pain, like a sore in your mouth you can't stop running your tongue over.
