Friday, September 28, 2012

Defiance

She needs him too much. Too much. It has to stop.
 
Why? She rages. Why after all this time of denial can she not be her need. The need defines her. She sought him out of need, she suffers his too frequent absences out of need. Is one day too long, two days, three days an eternity? Between encounters, and they are becoming fewer, the high wears off sooner, the dullness settles again from the air, and she is back to waiting. Stupidly, like a blind and wounded animal, lifting her face to the sense of his return.
 
She is not a stupid woman. She is not inconsequential. The conflict sickens her. She has no appetite for food, exhausted from trying to cloak her appetite for him. She feels herself faded and fading, yet her physical allure intensifies. She has that translucence that is the mark of good character strafed by grief. She draws attention from men and feels only vague contempt, then terrible guilt at their hurt feelings. But she is helpless to return their interest. She doesn’t understand their words. Only feels a trail of hurt that drifts behind her.
 
There was that time that was so different. Usually he undresses her slowly, teasing, kissing and caressing, talking casually. She is shy, it’s her nature, she blushes and turns away and this delights him, he turns her this way, that way, gazing at her, watching her redden, feeling her rising, excited distress. But that time he pulled her to him roughly and yanked down her shorts and underwear. He stood her between his legs and smacked her hard and fast. It particularly disturbs and arouses her to be spanked standing up. With no preparation to his silent brusqueness she is shocked and almost frightened, clinging to his shoulder under the pounding of the blows. The smell of her surrounds them as she wettens.
 
He mutters something and drags her by the arm, tripping over her clothing, to the bathroom, forcing her down over the vanity.
 
"Look in the mirror," he says as he draws his belt out. "Look at yourself."
 
She shakes her head, squeezing her eyes closed tightly. It’s him that likes to look, she doesn’t want that image.
 
The belt cracks across her cheeks. No words, no warm up, hard and fast, again and again.
 
"Look," he says. "Look in the mirror at us."

She opens her eyes and gasps at his face in the mirror. His eyes glitter, his lips are drawn and wet. The cords in his neck stand out as he throws his weight behind the blows. He watches her mons bump the edge of the vanity. His rhythm is unvaried, as always, but his usual meticulous coverage is off, he hits the same places over and over, he’s watching the mirror.
 
She finally cries out. He stops and lies against her, panting, then stands and lifts her around the waist and carries her, legs bumping, to the big bed. He tosses her on her back, watching the pain shock spread through her as her asscheeks slam contact to the softest comforter that feels like sandpaper when she drags herself towards him. He can’t get his pants down before her legs are wrapped around his waist. Her body arched like a steel cable she pulls him into her. They clutch hands tightly, the time will be soon.
 
They can climax together. They’ve done it since their second time. She feels the hum of his blood change, he feels her clench high and to the left. They spill together, spasm together, whirlpools inside the granite of their union, the fierceness of their concentration.
 
This memory overcomes her. She straps herself, swinging wildly, catching her hip, her lower back, her shoulder blade. She falls onto the bed and straps her belly and her breasts, she spreads her legs and strikes in vain. The only one she feels from this stupid, inconsequential, too soft woman’s belt, is when it hits in her in the face. She’s never felt that before. She masturbates ferociously, knowing she’ll cripple herself for orgasm, not caring.
 
Finally she fumbles for the favored dildo and presses it between her beaten lips. Her cunt suck at it desperately, trying to make it come insider her.
 
She cries against her closed eyelids, cradling her burning clit. She doesn’t know any way to change this. She is this need. It’s all she wants to be.


26 comments:

  1. Ma Chere,

    I will assume 'she' is 'you'. If that is the case, I feel I now understand you clearer than even before. Thank you for opening yourself to me and letting me peer behind the veil.

    Again, I am going to assume the pics (including your last post) are you. If so, I need to add you to my flirt list... ;D

    You are an amazing, sensual woman.

    TTFN
    Mr. No Name

    ReplyDelete
  2. A wonderful post Emen and so much of it felt. Right here. In the soul.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I'm glad(?) it struck a chord.

      Thank for the lovely compliment :)

      Delete
  3. Need is a strange beast. It devours us over and over, and yet keeps spitting us back out again. I often resist and then run headlong back into its jaws...

    Beautifully written.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. It's maddening but who could live without it? Do people live without it?

      Thanks :)

      Delete
  4. Emen: I could read your words all day--the depth of them bring me to highs and lows, shudders and goosebumps, warmth and cold.
    Cette est rempli coeur et ame. Thank-you for sharing.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Merci. Les désirs du cœur, l'âme se répercute.

      Delete
  5. Emen, Your writing is wonderful I was right there in the moment with you. Amazing xxx

    ReplyDelete
  6. Emen,

    I have been looking forward to your post. You are so eloquent. I love reading your posts.

    Thanks for a terrific post. Your stories are so vivid and brilliant.

    Hug,
    joey

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thanks Joey, that means a lot to me.

      Delete
  7. Emen,

    I am late in the game to reply, but for no other reason than being left speechless... beautifully written and hot on so many levels!

    The belt on your ass is art.

    xo,
    SC

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thank you Queen of Ass Pics. That's a compliment!

      Delete
  8. Am I the only one who found this painful? To me it reads as so much sadness and loneliness. Perhaps I'm not reading it right. But it makes me want to give you a hug and ask if you are okay.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thank you. I'm okay. I think there's inherently sadness and loneliness in living a life that can never truly be expressed with the person you want it to. But there's such vitality and intensity to the experience you are lucky enough to have, that you choose to live the life :)

      Delete
  9. This is really intense, Emen! And it sounds/feels very personal. Wonderfully written.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thank you. At times that is exactly how it feels to miss him.

      Delete
  10. I shouldn't be surprised at your incredible way of writing based on your comments that I read, but wow. You know how to pull someone into that moment with you.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. And I think you know what that feels like. Guess we all do. Sigh.

      Delete