Angry Sex

We had angry sex, something I'd never done before.

It began when he reached for me, his hands hard on my flesh, and I tried to move away, but his hold was too firm. I dug a hand into his shoulder, squeezing hard, and he winced. The benefits of so many years as a massage therapist: I have thumbs of steel and know exactly where to press them for a desired effect.

"I don't want to fight about this," I said through gritted teeth. "Its ridiculous."

"Then lets not," he answered, and pulled me into the circle of his arms.

I was too angry to want a hug, but I recognized the peace gesture for what it was. I leaned my forehead into the place where his neck and shoulder meet, and instead of nuzzling him as I'd intended, I bit him.

"Owwww!"

He shoved hard enough to unbalance me. I fell backwards onto the couch, my arms and legs akimbo, my skirt landing high on my thighs. He started to walk away, but I flashed him. He changed direction, moving toward me and unfastening his pants at the same time.

"No panties, hmm?"

"I know how you like to touch me while you are driving..." I answered, thinking about the dinner date we had arranged for the evening.

I scootched farther up the couch, until the arm hit the middle of my back, and then he was on me. He pressed himself between my thighs, his hand guiding his formidable angry-red cock. It was my turn to wince as he barged inside. The oil I'd applied to myself after shaving my pussy bare eased his way. though. We both groaned from the pleasure and pain of it, of the pain of penetration and the pleasure of him spreading the walls of my pussy apart as he drove the wedge of his cock inside.

I looked into his eyes and saw that the pupils were dilated very wide despite the lamp behind me. He slipped a hand under my neck and kissed me hard as he made his final push and slammed against my mound.

"Owwww!" I cried as he bottomed-out. Normally he was conscientious about it, but this time he didn't care if he made me bleed by going to deep.

"Fucker!' I slapped my hands on his chest. "That hurts!"

"Oh?"

His fingers tangled in the hair at the back of my head, holding me immobile. He watched my face as he slid back an inch or two, and then slammed back into me.

Again, that deep pain. It made me flinch and him smile.

I tighted my body up, tightened my thighs, trying to mitigate the force of his thrusts, but it didn't help. He was there, using the full weight of his body to drive his point home with enough force to expel the air from my lungs.

I closed my eyes and focussed on the seeds of my arousal. I could feel the lips of my pussy clinging to his cock as he moved, could feel the warmth of my pussy from the friction. Another deep push and then he was no longer leaning over me. His fingers sought and found my clit, rolling it. I gasped and bucked under him, then locked my legs around him.

We battered each other with our bodies, trying to break down the barriers that our anger had become, seeking the momentary oneness that blinded our eyes and blended our spirits. And we quickly found it. When climax hit, my breath caught and my eyes flew open. I exhaled a wail and then his face contorted. He made those signature noises that accompanied his own orgasm, and then collapsed onto me.

I wrapped my arms around him, and awash in a flood of endorphines that overpowered the earlier adrenaline, realized that I was no longer angry. Sometimes love looks like war, I thought. Yes. Sometimes, love looks like war.