We Were Made Strangers

"I want to see you do it," he said. The width of the room stretched between us.

"No."

"I want to watch you come."

"No." I hid behind the emphasis in my voice, fighting a cold knot rising somewhere in my chest. His eyes, holding mine intently and dispassionately, seemed to mold the knot into fear—a mixture of fear and painful anticipation. His quietness had the quality of something vicious and just about to snap.

How well I thought I had known him—our friendship and our history—flew out the window. We were strangers, as strange to each other as prison guard to inmate,—strange, and yet in the way the rules, the circumstances, yawed in the gap between us, we were as familiar as master and dog.

"If you don't do it, I will hurt you." When I didn't respond, he continued, "All your purity—I can take that from you. Do you want to keep me from you? Then do it."

I trembled visibly, and not entirely out of fear, as he knew. I said nothing, and he read everything. In one quick motion he was by my side, and had my hair grasped tightly in his hand. He yanked my head back and I made a sound.

"Baby," he said, and the word jarred from lack of affection, "why won't you do us both a favor? Look at you, I could smell you from across the room. We both want it."

I met his eyes. I shook my head.

As if on cue, he threw my head back down onto the bed. He pinned my arms above my head with one hand. With the other, he yanked my shirt up to my chin and with the other hand grasped one breast roughly in his hand, bringing his head down to abuse me with his mouth. My shaking chest arched up to meet him.

"Now will you?" he said through his teeth. His tongue went southward. It flicked over my abdomen, and then it was on my thighs, teasing nearer and nearer. "Or now?" I was hot with desire—the pain of wanting was paralyzing.

He paused on the brink of it. My entire body sang with expectation—both of our faces were coated in the thinnest sheen of sweat. And then, lightly, his tongue grazed over the small bud. I convulsed.

Instantly he released my hands, which had been pinned this whole time. At the same time he sat up erect and watched me. "Do it now," he said, almost hissing, having brought me to a point of desperation.

And, just as he wanted, my hands flew to the almost dripping wetness between my legs, and I eased the pain, hips rocking, fingers fumbling, biting down on my lower lip without realizing it. He watched me with his bright, hard eyes, like I had never been watched before—I felt he let no movement go unnoticed, no small emission of sound go unheard.

He had set me up ruthlessly and I was just about to climax, my face twisting and eyes just about to roll, when he seized my two hands and wrenched them over my head once more. The knot in my body, not yet unraveled, was at its highest pitch, and all my wanting tumbled out of my mouth in a loud cry.

He stemmed it with his own mouth, gulped my scream. Suddenly he was on top of me, laid out against my writhing body, his bare chest against my heaving one, the cloth of his pants rough against my legs and my sensitive crotch. He released my hands, and I was unbuttoning him frantically, and he was kissing, sucking, biting my neck and chest and tugging my hair back, scratching my stomach and cupping my breasts. His knee dug between my legs and I arched back from the pleasure, but by this time I had his swollen erection in my hand and was guiding it blindly into me.

It was what he had wanted. At fever pitch I guided him into me, and he gave in with all the satisfaction of delay and total control. He glided in slickly and filled me, and I climaxed immediately. I cried out and he moaned.

With deliberate pleasure, he breathed into my ear, "My turn." He waited until the waves subsided, and then began to fuck me. His tight stomach rippled with the effort of control, and he moved in me rhythmically, ruthlessly, each thrust entering me to the fullest point and then exiting, taking all of me with him and then giving me back to myself. I felt the heat rising in my chest. Each time he seemed to be going deeper, touching a part of me I hadn't known could be so sweetly rich—further and further, harder and harder.

And what was greater than the pleasure was the power, and the pleasure of power. I had never known a thing—the power that he had to flick my pain and pleasure around like two flimsy, obedient whips—and simultaneously the power he was granting me, my taut body, in swallowing him and bringing him to what was also for him the greatest pleasure he had experienced to date.

We came simultaneously.