A Woman Of Lust And Anger

It's one thing to be done with high school, it's a whole other thing to be done with it where I live. There's pretty much nothing to do here, other than take a short car ride to the beach or the mall or a few big parks. It's 90-something degrees, and it really doesn't get much better than that. I brought you here for that very reason. It's boring as hell here, which is one reason I'm happy to go to college soon. I won't be seeing you for a while, and that would be the other reason you're with me today.

My bed is upstairs and...too big for just me. I'd slipped you my secret extra key (A/N - yes, I actually have a secret extra key.) a while back and told you to bring it if you ever came to my stomping grounds. I'm lying on my bed, FINALLY cleaned off and devoid of my favorite books, wearing a tight white button-down shirt, one I've had for a few years that fits my shoulders and everything else...except my "chest area," so I wore a very small black front-closure bra lined with beige-ish lace and just left the shirt open at the top. I'm also wearing my plaid school skirt...or what's left of it. I swore on my love for you I would cut half of it off as soon as I graduated, and believe me, the second I got to the ceremonial party after graduation, that's exactly what I did...then of course I had a friend sew some black lace onto it.

Sitting on my bed, I hear knocking at the door on the lower level of my house. I know it's you. Well, I've been mad at you for a few days now and I, being me of course, have my own way of expressing it. Still being pissed, I yell downstairs, "YOU HAVE A FUCKING KEY!"

As I get downstairs anyway, the door opens and you say, "God, the whole neighborhood probably heard you."

Okay, seriously? I think, and shoot back, "Your point?"

Closing and re-locking the door, you reply, "Nothing, but you're being irra--" BUT as you begin the most annoying thing I get from you, I'm irritated enough, starved of intimate contact, and quite honestly, don't want to hear it right now. So I bite my lip provocatively, which makes you pause your lecture long enough for me to use the ever-cliched element of surprise and take a quick step toward you....

And you completely ruin my plan by stopping my progression, turning me so I'm not facing you, and wrapping your arms around my body, gently trapping my arms to my sides. I writhe, and you whisper, "If I let you go will you be a good girl?"

"Fuck you."

Knowing it will inevitably soften me, you quickly turn me at 180 degrees to meet your eyes, and when I refuse to, you tighten your grip on me and bite my neck with the intensity I've waited for. I gasp in sudden pleasure, a shock-wave sensation flooding me, and I feel the beginning of moisture beneath my skirt.

Noting my reaction, you go on, your tone so smug, with, "How about now?"

I want revenge, so I do one of the things I know will annoy you, and simultaneously attract you when I put it simply:

I catch my breath, and barely audibly say, "Callate y chingame."

An edge of anger seeps into your voice, "What the hell, Kia? English?!"

"Shut up and fuck me."

Returning to my neck with a smaller bite, you tell me, "Will do."

You soundlessly look at me, and I run upstairs. Obviously being faster than I am, you're on me (literally) in seconds, but I have just enough of a lead to get up the stairs. A few steps away from the top step, you quickly bind me to you by my waist, pick me up, and carry me to my room, and throw me on my bed, of course momentarily pushing a hand between my legs and slipping a finger where I'm getting very, very wet (and not wearing any underwear) in the process.

"Someone's been a bad girl..." you say, raising an eyebrow naughtily. I'm in trouble, and I love it. You're standing to the side of my bed and with just the right mix of anticipation and compassion take my arms and pull me up toward you. We make out, flooding each other with both anger and sexual need. When we pause to breathe, I ask, "And what does a bad girl get?" You take off your shirt before your reply.

"She gets the living hell fucked out of her. But first..." and I beat you to it by going straight for your jeans and boxers and tugging them down and sliding my fingers over your hardening dick. I crawl back just enough so that I'm on my knees, bent in half and gently licking your tip with my tongue a few times until I taste a little pre-cum. Then I lean my head sideways and curl my tongue around your shaft and run it down, then back up to take it all in my mouth, my oral pressure building with your moans and labored breathing as your hands travel up my skirt to my uncovered lady parts and you start to finger me. By the time I stop sucking when I think you're sufficiently hard enough to fuck me, I'm extremely wet and breathing heavily.

I torturously slowly remove you from my mouth, leaving the last sensation you feel from my tongue. I look at you with a brightness in my dark eyes that silently screams, "Go for it."

In just moments, your jeans and boxers are on the floor and I'm forced onto my back. My skirt is slipped down and off of my legs and you're on top of me, your body between my legs but not inside, biting my neck hard. Undoing the two or three closed buttons to my shirt fervently, you stop biting me just long enough to whisper to me, "Let me see those tits," and unclasp my bra and pull it and my shirt off my arms to be tossed somewhere on the carpet with the rest of our clothes.

Now we're both fully naked, and you finger me a little harder. Still feeling rebellious, I look straight into your eyes and ask, "Think you can handle me?"

"I know I can; can you handle me?"

Before I can say anything, you drive yourself inside me, and I let out a small scream of pleasure. With nothing less than furious passion, you rock my body back and forth with yours as you pound into me violently, relentlessly, one hand behind my back to keep me close enough to feel it all, the other alternating between tits. Our sounds increase without any coherent words. Fucking me as hard as you can in the last few thrusts, cum sprays inside me as I dig my nails deeper into your back and scream, and we are frozen together for just a split second before you gingerly lower yourself beside me.

We regain oxygen soon enough and, after a satisfying after-sex kiss, I say only this: "Maybe I should get mad at you more often."