Sitting in a ceiling-less cell of a cubicle, I am deathly bored. A man just wading to death. It is at these times that my mind wanders into a pussy of my past. The whores, the beautiful harlots, come streaming through like the Pixies in my earphones. I lament the loss of love and cherish the moments of indifferent lust. The moments when I was a toy, reduced to a vehicle in someone's fantasy. This is when I retire to the beige tiled floor with white tin walls suspended in air to remind myself of how good I can feel without love. Nothing here does a better job of reminding me of what comes next when you are at bottom. At the end of love you just want to fuck. Which brings me to Brianna Watkins. Jesus, women are wonderful.
"If I take off my pants we are going to have sex," I declared in a timid voice to the olive vixen lying in front of me.
"I know, and it will be something you could never imagine," replied her voice of confidence. How did it come to this, one piece of clothing after another until I am in my jeans with no underwear (the hot summer) and she with her birthday beauty perched before me calm and collected. She had resigned to the possibility of taking me long before I even knew her name.
I see now that women are like that, they can see much farther into the future than we can. Brianna could see me trying to be right, to be decent, and it drove her mad for a piece. A challenge to pierce my armour and have me collapse with that glossy dark slit of flesh. With Brianna you could see everything bold, bald, bashful and I had never seen anything like it before. She was so unique, so full of lust and abandon that I was under her thumb from the beginning, just too naïve to embrace it and get right down to it.
Like many women Brianna had a fantasy of force and domination. She liked being controlled and abused, hurt with pain that lasts only as long as it takes for the pleasure to resonate. At the time of my observation about the removal of my jeans I had no idea about these fantasies. I thought they were horrible scenes in bad movies that should never have been released. Tasteless smut that not a soul but the damned could discern entertainment from.
"Stand up for me," she asked. I listened like a puppy, a servant, and a whore. "Come here," to the side of the bed nearest her dark hair that had spread over my burgundy pillowcase. When I arrived from that two step journey she put one hand on my naval and let it linger as her thumb found its way to the first bronze button of my 501's. Her soft fingers followed closely, not missing a beat and soon the teeth of the zipper screamed through the silence and the hair of my maturity could be seen just above the base of my penis which she was looking at hungrily. Her lips, thinly separated by a dark slit, had been licked by her strong tongue and sparkled as if a man's come had been spread like lip-gloss.
I did nothing. I just stood and watched my body become part of this woman's fantasy, her fun. I was not, nor could I have been, indifferent. I was raging; I wanted to know how she felt deep inside. Deep, she did promise me with her eyes. "Can I take them off?" she asked looking up at me. I couldn't say anything. She started to tug slightly and when I moved back she clenched her mouth and pulled. They were at my feet and I was naked in front of her. The truth of my lust pointing directly at her. She grabbed it and began to stoke, long and gentle. My head fell back and that was it, I had nothing left, I belonged to her now, I was owned, and knew it at that precise moment.
I leaned over and kissed her mouth like I hadn't kissed a woman in years, like it was the last time. Her tongue met mine and they played with each other as I sank into my bed. The boyhood single mattress that had carried me through university kept us close when we had slept in it earlier and now it showed us an eternal bounce. As easily as I fell into the bed I had found my way into this woman's ecstasy. It was endless and moist and firm, coaxing every last fathom of my life into it.
"Hold my hands down," she urged into my ears. "And don't stop even if I tell you to." She wanted this, I could tell by her enthusiasm but I stopped. "What if I hurt you? How will I know?"
"You will know, but you won't hurt me, please."
"I don't know."
"Listen. If you do something that I don't like I will say the word 'Enough' and you can take that as Stop, otherwise I want you to fuck me. No matter how much I resist or tell you to stop. Fuck me however you want, do it hard, unless you hear that word I told you. Trust me... I trust you! I want this."
I hesitated. I didn't know what to do and I hadn't ever believed that someone would want this. Everything ingrained into a man's skull since his induction into manhood is a serious respect for the word "no". To treat it as the end of the line, any line! To go against this kind of conditioning was going to be difficult. She kept talking, kept convincing me, seeing me as a man that just had to be opened up. She talked dirty, she talked hard and she talked about my come, her tits, feeling me spread myself all over ever square inch of her deepness.
And when I heard enough. When I was comfortable and at my end, when I could have jumped off stating convention and fear, I didn't, I caved and grabbed her wrists like a victim. I forced them at her sides and pressed into her. She yelped and writhed and wiggled and flexed but there was no way I was letting her go. I was an animal. I didn't hear the first "no" or the second. I didn't hear the begging, the pleading and struggles. I came; I came inside her like she asked before she made me turn ugly and mean. I couldn't stop coming. Like a part of me had been repressing this since puberty and was seizing the opportunity to just die a happy, full-bodied death. My veins throbbed out of every single limb. And then I was weak. My arms gave out and I fell to her side, at her mercy. She had come in the middle of my primal rage. She came screaming some of the dirtiest things I had ever heard. Things I have never heard since. The only thing I was conscious off, the only word I could have heard, was never said.
"I didn't even come close to saying it," she told me with a half smile.
We were easy, relaxed and tired. I lay beside her and kept looking at this mysterious woman that just fucked my brains out with her submission. I had no idea. She was proud of herself and I wanted to tell her I loved her. I wanted to tell her how unique and wonderful she was. I felt these things. I was delirious of course but never was I intoxicated. I had all of my wits about me. I felt a genuine connection and thought she deserved to know the impression she had made. I raised my hand and graced a few strands of hair from her face to behind her right ear. "You are unbelievable Brianna, you are some kind of..."
She started to move and abruptly got out of the bed. She started to waltz her naked legs into her silk summer skirt and as I started to finish what I was going to say she stopped me with her eyes and said, as if it were goodbye.
"Enough!"
Originally published September 2006 - "Divine"