Frankly My Dear I Dont Give A Damn

"You know, the scene where Clark Gable carries Vivian Leigh up the stairs."

They were at dinner, discussing everything from work to politics. Now it was movies. The conversation had just taken an interesting turn.

"I'm not sure which one you mean."

"You know," she said. "If you've seen the movie, you know. Rhett carries Scarlett up the stairs after they've quarreled. Rhett had gotten drunk earlier. He threatens her, then he carries her up the stairs. The next time you see Scarlett she's waking up, stretching, with a smile on her face."

"I remember now," he said. "Wasn't that more like rape?"

"Can't rape the willing."

"She didn't seem willing. If I remember correctly, she was fighting him all the way up the stairs."

"Yes, but she ends up enjoying it."

"But he couldn't have known she would enjoy it. In his mind it was a rape."

"It wasn't rape," she exclaimed, exasperated. "Like most men, you just don't get it."

He could see she was getting frustrated with his arguments. They had been dating for about a month. They'd had sex on the second date, and every date since. She always wanted to, she was even a little demanding about it sometimes. It was never that satisfying to him, though. She seemed to enjoy it, and she had orgasms, but she always seemed a little irritated somehow, even when she came. Maybe he was just being insecure. He was, after all, trying to please her.

"Are you saying you would like a man to force himself on you like that?"

"I think every woman has those kind of fantasies."

"That's unresponsive. I asked if you would like it."

"I'd like it if Clark Gable carried me up the stairs."

"What do you think he'd do to you after he got you up there?"

"That's the point. He'd do whatever he wanted to do."

"What if he did something you didn't like"

"Like what?"

"Like, for instance, anal sex?"

"Why do you have to go there?" she asked. "Why would he necessarily want that?"

They had discussed anal sex. She declared it to be disgusting. He had once lightly run his finger across her anus while they were making love, but she had flinched and he quickly withdrew his hand.

"He wouldn't, necessarily. But if he were forcing himself on you, with only his desires in mind, he might choose to do that.

"I don't think Clark Gable would."

"Look," he interrupted, "What I guess I'm really asking is if you would want a real person, a man you know, if you would want him to do that."

"Slow down, cowboy. I'm talking about a fantasy. Besides," she said. "You're not the type."

"What type am I?"

"You're my big gentle teddy bear." She said, smiling.

He motioned for the waiter. "Another bourbon," he said. "A double."

His heart was pounding in his chest as they walked up his drive. He couldn't believe what he was planning to do. His hands fumbled a little as he slipped the key into the lock. When they got inside, he helped her with her coat, as he always did, but instead of hanging it up, he casually tossed it on the floor.

"Hey!" she started, but before she could say anything else, he grabbed her hair, yanked her head back roughly, and forced his mouth on hers. It couldn't even be called a kiss, because before she could kiss back, his mouth was pressed on hers, his tongue forcefully exploring her mouth. Just as she started to respond, he withdrew, though he still held her head bent backwards.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Get on your knees."

"What? What did you..." she started.

"Get on your fucking knees." He pulled down on her hair, forcing her down to her knees next to the sofa. From there, he pushed forward on her head, forcing her face into the cushion. Still holding her hair, pressing downward, he leaned forward and whispered in her ear. "I'm not really sure what we've been doing before, but tonight I promise you one thing. I'm going to fuck you. That's all I know. By the end of tonight you're going to know you've been fucked. In any way I want to fuck you." He released her hair with his right hand and placed his left on the back of her neck holding her firmly. With his right, he pulled her skirt up around her waist. He felt, found the waistband of her hose and tore down roughly. He pulled down hard, pulling past her knees, pulling until her shoes came off with the torn hose. He reached around her, hooked his right hand on the neck of her blouse and jerked down, sending buttons flying everywhere. He quickly unfastened her bra, which clasped in the front.

"You're scaring me. Please stop," she said, half a whimper, half a reproach. "Why are you doing this, why are you so angry with me?"

He paused for a moment, stricken. Had he drank too much whiskey at dinner? Was this crazy? He shook his head to himself. He was sure this was right. He felt it.

He relaxed his grip on her neck and leaned close, whispering "Baby, listen. I'm not angry with you, but I'm glad you're scared. I want you focused on me. You're going to do what I want, what pleases me. Do you understand?" He stroked her hair. "Do you understand?" he asked again, this time with an edge to his voice. She nodded.

He ran his hand over her right breast, squeezing it roughly; more roughly than he'd ever touched her before. He pinched her nipple and she gave a little gasp.

He reached behind her and felt between her legs. His fingers found her opening. She was incredibly wet. Usually it took twice as long to get her half as wet. She was soaking. She felt like a warm pool. Without warning he slid two fingers into her, then a third. He began stroking in and out, not gently. He was rewarded by her immediate intake of breath. Her chest began heaving, as she took in and exhaled air in huge gulps. He'd never seen her like this.

Abruptly he stopped and stood up. Quickly removing his shirt, then his pants, he again knelt on the floor beside her.

"What are you doing?" she asked, turning her head to look up at him. She cried out as she felt the stinging slap of his hand on her bare ass.

"Don't say anything unless I ask you a question. Do you understand me?"

"Yes," she whispered.

"I do have a question for you, though," he said, in a teasing, flirting voice. "What was I just doing to you?"

She hesitated. Again she squealed as he slapped her ass. His hand print was visible on her pale skin.

"What was I just doing to you?" he repeated.

"Playing with me," she replied, barely audible.

"No, I was fucking you with my fingers."

"Okay." She said. Another slap.

"No, say it."

"Fucking me with your fingers."

"Good, baby, that's good. Where was I fucking you?"

For a moment she almost said "the couch" but then she realized what he meant.

"My pussy," she replied, so quiet he could barely hear her.

He slipped three fingers in her again, thrusting even more roughly this time. "What am I doing to you?"

"Fucking my pussy with your fingers?" she gasped, catching on.

"I want you more slutty than that. I'm finger-fucking your wet cunt. Say it."

"I can't say that word," she whimpered.

He stopped long enough to slap her hard on the ass, then resumed his repeated penetration. "Say it!"

"Finger fucking my wet cunt."

"Louder!"

"Finger-fucking my wet cunt. Finger-fucking my wet cunt!" She was moaning and gasping now. She was more aroused than he'd ever seen her.

"Speaking of aroused," he thought, he couldn't remember the last time he was so hard.

"Do you like it?" he asked.

"Yes." She moaned.

"Do you want me to keep doing it?"

"Yes. Yes!"

"Then beg me."

"What?" Another slap.

"Please keep doing it."

Slap. "Keep doing what?"

"Please keep finger-fucking my wet cunt! Oh god, oh god. Please, please keep fucking my cunt." He could tell she was close. Suddenly, he stopped. She went crazy.

"Please don't stop, please finger-fuck my cunt, please!" repeating this as if they were magic words. He held her until she quieted.

He leaned over close to her face. Her eyes were closed. Strands of hair stuck to her damp face. "Damn, you look sexy." He said. Her eyes opened in surprise, then closed again. "Do you know what I'm going to do now?" he asked. She shook her head, eyes still closed, breathing heavily through her mouth. "Anything I want. Any idea what that might be?" he asked playfully. Her eyes opened wide. She knew. "Do you have any comments to make about what I might do?" he asked, laughing.

She stared into his eyes for a long moment. "Please fuck my ass." She said. "Please use me, please fuck my ass. Please fuck me hard."

He threw back his head and laughed. "Not today, baby. Maybe next time."

He lifted her up and on to her back on the couch. Pushing her legs up over his shoulders he slipped into her. He began stroking hard, holding her face in both his hands, kissing her deeply.

"This is how it's supposed to be," he thought, as his orgasm caught up with him.

The next morning, she awoke, stretched, and smiled.