Sleeping Sub Gets a Rude Awaening

They'd fallen asleep in each other's arms last night.

They talked and giggled, he pulled her close, and light kisses turned to deep, sensual kissing and gentle play. It was hard for her to put into words what it was that was that she found so attractive about him. His body was tall, strong and athletic -- exactly her 'type', but it was his mind.

He was sharp and smart, sometimes annoyingly so, but he knew exactly when to pivot -- when to just listen to her and hold her, and amazingly, he could somehow make her laugh when she was angry. She hated him for it in the moment, but as the anger instantly dissipated, she could let go of it and the tension would just flood out of her. She'd never had that with someone before. To make things worse (actually better) the way he touched her, it was like he knew exactly where her pleasure was, how to delay it, extend it, how to control it. It was all quite new to her.

His hand moved between her legs, with slow, deliberate motions that made her twist and buck against his palm. He hooked a leg inside her thigh, forcing her legs open, leaving her exposed. As his fingers sped up, he felt her whole body tighten, and suddenly his pace slowed to a deep, heavy grinding motion, pressing down on the source of her pleasure. Her back arched, she moaned loudly, and he locked his body, holding her in place until her breathing calmed.

They chatted and kissed, and as she climbed out of bed, she slipped on a little cotton top and popped to the bathroom. He always thought that was funny - 'Donald Ducking' he called it -- a top but no bottoms, an outfit that had modesty in all the wrong areas.

He lay there naked, smiling, content. She climbed under the covers putting one leg over his two and placed her head on his chest, dragging her fingers through the soft dark hair, inhaling his smell in long, deep breaths, and drifted off to the steady rhythm of his chest as it rose and fell.

The little retro digital alarm clock on the bedside cabinet blinked [04:23].

She stirred.

She was on her side, and he moved gently behind her, one arm around her belly. The big spoon. He was in that perfect position -- a warm embrace, their bodies aligned, but he kept moving -- something wasn't quite right. She half opened her eyes, but the room was still dark. In the fog of being half asleep, she felt him press lightly forward and roll her over onto her stomach. It was single fluid movement, which felt like it was happening in slow motion - and yet somehow her reactions were slower still.

Lying face down, she jolted suddenly awake, her eyes opening wide, searching for a shape or detail to orient herself in the darkness as she felt his palm spread over her hair, his entire hand covering the back of her head, pinning her down hard against the bed.

Fuck. She knew what this was.

He liked this game. She liked it too. Truth be told she LOVED this game, but it was precisely because it scared the fuck out of her -- it always came from out of nowhere, arrived uninvited, derailed whatever plans she had -- even if they were as simple as a peaceful night's sleep.

Her heart thumped, breath left her and darted back in, short and quick. It was like some sort of delectable panic attack. She could feel the white cotton sheet pressed hard against the side of her face and suddenly his whole weight was on her. She felt him aligning, hips on hips, chest on back -- he matched her, but was larger, stronger, heavier in every place.

She breathed in hard. It may have been a pillow or the duvet obstructing her mouth - it could simply have been the weight of a fully-grown man pressing down on her back that made it hard to get enough air in her lungs. She fought for every breath and twisted beneath him, trying to offset his weight, trying to find an opening to slide out.

She gathered her arms underneath herself and he moved instantly -- as if he'd been waiting for her to try. His elbows dug down into the mattress either side of her, pinning her arms into her sides, locking her in a weak position.

She froze, held her breath - he was going to talk, he was going to say something terrible.

Her every instinct wanted to be strong and oppose him, but the more she relaxed, the more he did. She allowed her frame to go limp and accept the weight, submit to the control. His elbows began to take some of his weight and his chest lifted slightly.

She inhaled long and slow. It had happened so quickly -- in such a rush of sensation, but now she was aware of him pressed up against her. He was hard. As hard as he could get. It was solid - like a pipe pressing into the soft flesh of her ass cheeks. She knew when he got like this, he would get so excited - he had even told her once that 'his cock would strain so hard that it was actually uncomfortable. It needed relief, release.'

She loved the idea that he was so totally aroused by her. Also, fuck him.

He whispered in her ear:

'We have a new game tonight. I want you to get up. I really do. I want you to try really hard.'

The words bit into her -- they just made it worse. She knew it was hopeless. Pointless. He was too big, too heavy, and strong too. And he knew exactly how to shift his weight, how to manipulate her into positions where her muscles couldn't align, where she could never get any momentum up. 'I want you to use these pathetic little girly arms of yours to push yourself up off the mattress. I want you to try and fight me. To escape. I know you'll never fucking do it, but I love feeling you try.'

It sounded like something a shark would say just before it ate you whole. Pointless and cruel, maybe it gave you a little hope, or perhaps it just made it obvious exactly how fucked you were and gave you a few seconds for that to sink in before the inevitable.

As if fear makes you taste better.

He pressed her head down into the bed again and lifted up his body -- she felt his other hand move down, taking his cock -- thick, fat, and hard, and pressing it against her from behind. Christ. She was so wet already, her body just surrendered to him.

His stiff cock sank straight into her. Rigid, unyielding, it pressed up and inside in a single stroke and with it came that feeling -- that feeling of something a bit too big squeezing into a space that was a bit too small, a delicious pressure that seemed to exert, to press outward in all directions at once - and with it, came the weight of his body again. He covered her, but now he was inside her. His middle tightened, and his hips tilted upwards -- he was braced, unrelenting -- his entire body committed in the act of pushing in. Deep. Deeper. THERE.

The tip of his cock pressed on that spot all the way up inside her. Fuck -- somehow in that exact second it hurt - and yet it was the most delicious thing she could feel. Her eyes rolled upwards as they closed. She breathed out a long, anguished 'haaaaaaa.'

Suddenly the feeling disappeared, and there was just the tip inside. She inhaled sharply as his closed fist pulled her hair back hard, her head raising up off the cotton bed sheet.

The calm, controlled way he spoke, in contrast to the tight grip holding her hair, only emphasised the undercurrent of threat: 'You're in trouble now, little bird. I'm going to slam this up inside you so fucking deep and hard it's going to make you cry. If you can get me off you, then I'll be nice to you again. If you can't, then you're going to take what you're given -- understand?'

She breathed in hard and blurted out a YES. If she'd been meek or unsure in replying, he'd have pulled her hair more or smacked her. She knew better.

His other hand snaked up the front of her, his palm spreading across her throat, his fingers wrapping around. 'Oh, and the harder you push, the harder I squeeeeze' he snarled the word and his fingers closed a little, pressing the soft flesh of her neck.

He relaxed his hand, loosened the grip on her hair and padded her cheek with soft, delicate kisses. He whispered to her again, his voice tender and reassuring 'You know you're so pretty, you're such a sweet girl, I almost feel bad about doing ....' His voice trailed off.

Then, in an instant his body locked. He had been up on his knees -- she'd hardly noticed. The full weight of him now pressed down on her, pinning her entire body to the bed. His hips advanced slowly - a laboured, grinding drag of the head of his straining cock up into her delicious wetness, until he was fully inside her. He began to build a rhythm, moving into her, then out -- long slow strokes, but at the end of each he would lock his stomach to really push all of his length into her. The soft flesh of her buttocks yielded against the front of his hips and lifted up, allowing him in deeper.

Her head was spinning -- it was too much. The best kind of too much, but still too much.

She reached down, placing her hands flat against the mattress and gathered up all of her resolve, trying to press her body up and away from the fabric that was already becoming damp with their sweat. He felt her move, felt her chest and shoulders lock as she pushed with all her strength, felt her core and legs stiffen to try and twist, to try and shake him off.

His hand closed around her throat, and breathing became punishingly difficult. She cried out and yet still he moved, back and forth, his cock driving in and out of her in hard, brutish thrusts as if there were two men in him -- one, animalistic, unfeeling, rhythmic, insistent, who fucked her like he was something mindless, driven solely by how delicious the tight grip of her warm, sweet wetness felt -- another fixated on every sound and movement that she made, obsessed with her desire, reactive to the slightest signal of her pleasure, desperate to hear the deep, guttural moans of her surging climax.

The good and bad angels. The beast and the lover.

She fought to pull in enough breath while at the same time, the constriction prevented the blood from getting to her head. It was as if her blood had suddenly become heavy -- her heart just couldn't push it, couldn't send enough of it up to her brain. He fucked her, relentlessly, and she tried desperately to push.

The dizzy feeling grew inside her, like a fog in her mind that made her feel like she was shrinking -- or everything, the bed, his body, even the sounds of his barking thrusts, were getting further away.

Her shoulders went soft, her arms gave up.

He felt her go limp under him.

He felt her give up.

Excited and emboldened by her surrender, the animalistic fucking intensified, faster now, deeper, harder. She knew he wouldn't last too much longer going like this. He leaned in close, and she felt the side of his face against hers. She turned, searching and immediately his mouth was on hers, his tongue urgently sliding between her lips. He could never be totally terrible to her. It was always there - that warmth, that want, that deep desire and affection. Hard as he could fuck her, when he kissed her, it was as if he wanted to burst into tears, like an outpouring of pent-up emotion. Like he wanted to take all of the warmth and goodness inside himself and make sure that she knew it was there, make sure she could feel it.

The thrusting was replaced with an intense grinding sensation and she moaned loudly into his open mouth. He tensed, holding himself up inside her, rubbing his cock right against that spot. It was as if the tender side of him had come to front -- like the beast had been replaced by the man. Her head dropped and she moaned again, her open mouth releasing hot air from her lungs into the mattress.

He spoke softly, but she could hear the strain in his voice as he tried to mask the twinges and jolts of sensation, like a deep warmth that crackled with electricity, pushing him close to the edge:

'Try again -- I want you to try again. Show me that you don't give up'

She twisted and braced against him, her back getting strong. Tightening her shoulders, she pushed with everything she had, but it was even less than before. The fucking, the choking, the pure adrenaline of it all had sapped her strength so quickly. He barely shifted, the only indication that he'd even noticed was the renewed pressure on her throat and the speeding up, the increased intensity of his hips smacking against her ass as he buried himself in her.

As she relented a second time, her body became limp, compliant, and she let out a deep sob. He kept his hand tightly pressed around her neck and fucked her. Hard. Dazed, she seemed to float, like a miniature version of herself suspended inside, away from the surface of her own skin. He kissed down hard on the back of her neck and yet she was only vaguely aware of the heat of his breath on her. As his face moved across the recently overpowered muscle that linked her neck to her right shoulder, his teeth sank into her.

Her flesh lit up as he bit down, like a thousand tiny needles all pushing through the surface of her skin at once, and the pain pulled her instantly from that warm bubble of indistinct sensation to a feeling of pure white heat. Her body was suddenly alight, everything was crystal clear, super hi-definition -- the burning in her shoulder, his weight on her, the speed and intensity of his thrusting, the sound of his breath, her eyes even searched vainly in the darkness for something to take in. She extended her arms out, reaching, and his hands traced them, until his palms covered the back of her hands, his fingers between each of hers, interlocking.

His hands held hers in place, pressing her arms down as his mouth released her. Her shoulder throbbed, and as she felt her excitement build, she surrendered to it, her stomach beginning to tense. God -- there was something about this made her so fucking wet -- she HATED him in that moment, but she loved what he did. It made her feel so conflicted.

His breathing began to speed up, and she could feel it, warm and urgent, right by her ear. She couldn't escape it, couldn't lean away from the sound of his growing climax. Fuck, that was hot. The throb just below her tummy continued to build, her fingers digging into the duvet, pulling it hard into her clenched fists. She tilted her head up and croaked 'I'm gonna... FUCK, I'm gonna..' he grabbed her hair, pulling it back hard 'Don't you fucking dare.'

It sounded like he was trying to threaten her, to punish her, but she knew him too well. He wanted her to come with him, to release in that same amazing moment, to wrap around each other's bliss to the point where it was hard to see where one ended and the other began.

She bit into her bottom lip and tried to slow her breath. Tried to calm and soften all of the muscles in her middle that felt like they were twisting, wrapping, building.

And still he pounded her, relentlessly.

She could hear his breathing getting shallower, speeding up, his own pleasure building. Suddenly she felt his body tense, his breathing stop. He barked sharply into her ear 'FUUUUCK - come for me now, come for me.'

Everything she had been holding onto suddenly released, as if a switch had been flipped and an incredible light illuminated inside her. Waves of sensation surged through her body, every muscle locking and throbbing as she came hard, all of her senses flooding, the feeling of overwhelming warmth pulsing out from her middle.

He began to move back and forth with long, deliberate strokes. She felt him pulsing inside her, his whole frame braced. With his arms, his shoulders, his chest squeezing in on her, he shot warm, soft ropes of cum deep inside and a hoarse, strained sound filled her ears, a roar from deep in his throat. It sounded like pain and sadness, like all of his strength and resolve, like everything inside him spilling out in one long, deep primal note.

As he moved with his breath, the feeling of her orgasm seemed to stretch out across his motion, rising and falling, but never totally dissipating. They were, for that moment, a single entity. So perfectly aligned and in sync that they breathed as one, moved as one, felt as one.

It rippled outward as he slowed, their bodies softening, their moans interweaving, their breath diminishing together, until eventually he leaned in and kissed her cheek 'thank you baby.' He climbed away, falling onto his back, his left arm threading between the pillow and her neck. He pulled her in close. Her left leg covered his two, her head rested on his chest, her fingers dragging gently through the soft hair on it.

It could have been one minute. Or ten. It was a hazy blur of soft kisses dotted on her face and gentle words spoken into the dark. As sleep began to wrap around her, she turned over on her side and he turned with her. The arm under her neck wrapped across her chest, the other trailed over her tummy. He aligned with her. The big spoon. As she drifted back into the soft nothingness of sleep, he whispered in her ear

'I love you.

Goodnight.'