Angry

Angry

Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica

Details

Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica

Summary

I sometimes will ask my girlfriend for requests...She was having a particularly tough day that found her as she said, "spitting nails." Her request was for a story about angry, raw sex. Hope you enjoy...As always I would love any feedback. Just to be clear, I wasn't the reason she was angry...:)

Summary

I sometimes will ask my girlfriend for requests...She was having a particularly tough day that found her as she said, "spitting nails." Her request was for a story about angry, raw sex. Hope you enjoy...As always I would love any feedback. Just to be clear, I wasn't the reason she was angry...:)

Content

Submitted: October 22, 2013

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Content

Submitted: October 22, 2013

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You were too angry to want a hug, but you recognized the peace gesture for what it was.  You leaned your forehead into the place where my neck and shoulder meet, and instead of nuzzling him as you’d intended, you bit me.

"Owwww!"

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

"No panties, hmm?"

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

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

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

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

You slapped my hands on my chest. "That hurts!"

"Oh?"

My fingers tangled in the hair at the back of your head, holding you immobile.  I watched your face as I slid back an inch or two, and then slammed back into you.

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

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

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

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, your breath caught and your eyes flew open.  You exhaled a wail and then my face contorted.  You made those signature noises that accompanied my own orgasm, and then collapsed onto you.

You wrapped your arms around me, and awash in a flood of endorphines that overpowered the earlier adrenaline, realized that you were no longer angry.  Sometimes love looks like war, I thought. Yes. Sometimes, love looks like war.

 

 


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