When I Can Breathe Again

My friend Brendan throws these random parties that I have long stopped attending. They're always either all night dance fests or awkward dinner party setups. And you never know which until you show up. So when he insists I come to a 'garden party' at his inner city townhouse, I figure it has been long enough to make refusing quite rude.

There are around 80 people there when I arrive, some who I know by sight, but most who I don't. As is my usual preference at such things, I look for a spot that isn't too loud, too high traffic or too far from the alcohol, but not so antisocial that I'd be rude. The kitchen seems perfect.

There is ice in the sink, booze on the bench and a few people already hanging there who look like they're doing the same as me. I drop my six-pack on ice, grab one and look around for a bottle opener. "This what you're looking for?" asks a friendly voice and a friendly face. "Yes please." I say with some relief, opening my beer and handing the opener back. "And don't go too far, I'll be needing it again soon."

"Dominic. At your service."

"Angela. In need of your service." I don't mean that to be as flirty as it comes out and I burst out laughing and so do you.

Within a few hours of meeting each other we establish we're both single, I haven't been out with anyone in a while and you've had a few weird experiences. I think we are both a bit surprised to find a little 'normality' in each other, although my friend Brendan will later exclaim he knew we would hit it off.

The good thing is that there's no false effort, and no forced conversation. There isn't really any intense spark either, but there are a few bright moments. I like your height the minute we meet. As a tall and fairly broad woman, I love taller broader men who make me feel smaller. I think you say you played rugby. But I could be wrong.

Enough beer and enough bright moments later, we decide to go to my place.

Inside the door, we kiss deep and kind of fumble around. There's giggles and a few silences and some obvious wariness. I can see that your cock is hard and huge in your jeans and my pussy is wet as anything. There's no doubt we're going to let them have it.

I pour us fresh drinks and lead us to the couch. I move next to sit next to you, but you take my wrist and pull me forward so I have to straddle your legs instead. I like this position, both dominant and vulnerable. I wind my fingers in your hair and kiss you deeply, pulling your mouth onto mine.

I love kissing and you are great at it. You show passion and tenderness and skill, and I get wetter. As I press into you for more, you grab my hair and pull me away. A smile and a tease. I smile back and try to kiss you again. You pull harder and I moan and grind my hips into you; wet through my skirt and underpants, and surely moistening your jeans.

As you finally allow me to kiss you again, I press onto you with renewed force and reach down to stroke your hard cock through your jeans. You lean back and tell me to unzip you. I watch your eyes close as my hand slowly, and with some revenge teasing in mind, eases your hard cock out where I can see it. I use a light touch to explore the shaft and roll your foreskin slowly back and forth over the head.

My hand moves slowly (frustratingly slow I hope) and you reach up and pull my mouth back to yours, kissing me hard and then very softly. I'm aching for more, so I take my top off and push my E-cups into your line of sight, arching by back and pushing my pussy against your hard cock.

You lean forward as you pull me toward you and bite through my bra and into my nipple. You grip it hard, not playfully, and I exclaim my pain and pull away. But your arms go around me and pull me back in. In your strong grip you bite my breasts and neck, and moan your desire into my flesh. I try to pull away but you won't let me and I'm gushing even more wetness. I know you feel me twitch through my panties on your cock. I'm on top, I realize, but not at all in control.

I grip my legs tighter on your thighs as a reassertion of my own will, but you just grab my ass, lift us up and move me onto my back and onto the floor. It happens quickly and you are stronger than I realize. I cry out in surprise and lay there panting a moment. I'm not used to being 'handled' this easily.

The steady pressure of your weight makes me feel powerless, even as one of your large hands presses both of mine above my head in a strong grip. I realize I couldn't fight you off, even if I wanted to. You smile as you watch me realize this. I buck my hips defiantly while you push and pinch my breasts without remorse, while your hips and legs pin me and your teeth and lips press hard into my neck. It feels amazing, and I'm moaning, but I feel powerless too. I have to fight you. Don't I?

"Shhhhh..." You whisper softly in my ear. Deliberately angling your hot breath on my neck you snake two fingers into my mouth. Deep. I resist again, pushing angrily against you, but it only lasts a few seconds. All I can feel is your whole body wanting me and my body finally relaxing in response. I allow my thoughts to melt entirely toward your desire, before I bring them back. I feel a bit silly, like I overreacted. But then I start to realize something else just happened.

You whisper these quiet words into my ear, "Now, I've got you." I sigh and relax beneath you. "It's okay to struggle. I want you to. But you have to tell me clearly if you actually want to stop." You let the words sink in, and wait to see what I will do. Your grip has slackened and you are half rolled off me, watching, your hand gently cupping my jaw. I think about what struggling means and it seems serious and intense. But then I let that thought go and just relive the sensation of feeling powerless.

I arch my back toward you and suck your fingers as my affirmative response. Drawing them deeper in my mouth. "Good girl," you say, and on hearing these words I gasp and arch even more. You feel my body respond and you see my eyes change. You've made the realization already, but it will take me a bit longer: your dominant has found my submissive. You move your bodyweight against me again, gripping my wrists tighter.

When you say the words a second time, I respond by relaxing and opening wider. My legs, my arms, my mouth. "Yes. That's a good girl." You stroke my hair. I don't fully realize it but these words have just unlocked my liberation, they are my cue to surrender and obey. And without even thinking I sigh aloud, "Sir..."

I break with those words, and I reform again. I will do this several times that night and in many nights to come; surrendering to everything and volunteering a whole lot more.