1 comments/ 18240 views/ 6 favorites The Fight By: Smashley It was the biggest fight yet with her soon-to-be ex and she felt like shit afterwards. She needed a release for all her pent up anger. The batting cages were long closed and there was nowhere else to go. Except for his place. She hesitated at the light, not sure if she should go there. Fuck it, she thought, I NEED this. She drove down the now familiar streets and pulled into his driveway, praying he was still awake. As she got out of the car, the back door opened and there he stood. "What's wrong?" he asked, concern on his face. She didn't say a word as she walked up to him. As he hugged her close, she felt a little better but knew she needed something else, something more raw. She stood up on her tippy toes and whispered into his ear, "I need you to fuck me...just fuck me and use me. Don't be nice. Don't hold back." she leaned back and looked at his face, his eyes now filled with lust. "Please." That last word did it and he dragged her into the house and closed the door, slamming her into it. His mouth crushed hers as he kissed her, hard and fierce. He pressed his body onto hers, pushing her harder against the door. He bit her lip, leaving it slightly stinging, and made his way down her neck. Her arms were pushed up and over her head, pinning her more firmly against the door, giving him complete access to her chest. He took both her wrists in one of his hands and used the other to rip her shirt open, sending buttons flying across the kitchen floor. He spread her shirt open, exposing her breasts to his mouth. He took one in his hand and lowered his mouth to it, licking and sucking, biting and nibbling, making her moan loudly at the sensations he was causing. He realeased that one and started pinching and pulling the other one, drawing a gasp from her. She arched her back to offer him more and he greedily took what she offered. Her nipples were soon sore from his attention, sensitive to the touch. He let go of the one and plunged his hand down into her jeans, shoving two fingers into her pussy. "Oh god!" she moaned, "god, that feels good!" She was soaked and ready for him. But he wasn't done yet. He withdrew his hand and licked his fingers, looking her in the eye as he did. Then, he leaned forward and kissed her, making her taste her own cum, smelling it on him. It wasn't a long kiss as he pulled her arms down and led her to the kitchen counter, bending her over it, face first. Her pants were yanked down to her knees and her cheeks were spread, allowing him access to her. He pushed two fingers back in and pulled them out, spreading her juices all over her pussy and ass. Suddenly, he shoved his cock in her, making her moan loudly at the intrusion, loving the feel of him. She pushed her ass back, wanting more of him in her. He fucked her like this for a few minutes before stopping. She wondered what he was doing when she felt a finger playing with her ass, his cock still buried in her. She reached down and put her fingers on her clit, teasing herself while he played. She felt him slip a finger in her ass and she almost came then. Her fingers paused on her clit, not wanting to cum just yet. He worked it in and out slowly, driving her to the brink and stopping. She felt his cock slip out and before she knew it, he was pressing it in her ass. It popped in and he sank all the way in. "Ohhhhhhhhh yeeeesssss," she hissed, pushing her ass back toward him. He moved in and out slowly then started moving faster. she resumed playing with her clit and within seconds, started cumming. "I'm cumming!" she yelled. He grabbed her hips and started fucking her ass harder and faster as she came, pushing himself over the edge and cumming himself. He leaned down to lay on her back, tired from the bit of exercise they had just had. Both were breathing hard, panting was more like the word. She felt him slide out of her and their cum running down her legs. "I think we need a shower," she said, grinning against the counter. He stood up and stepped back, still fully dressed except for his pants undone. She kicked off her pants and took off her top, realizing it would be pointless to wear it anymore tonight. She followed him to the bathroom and watched him turn on the shower, ready for him to be unclothed like her. She leaned against the bathroom counter as he undressed, enjoying the short show. She stepped into the shower, him right behind her and stood under the spray, washing off the cum that was on her legs. She grabbed the soap and turned to help him wash off, eager to have her hands roam his body. She ran her hands over his soapy chest, down his stomach to his cock and lovingly washed it, making sure to clean it real well. He returned the favor, washing her chest slowly, down her stomach to her pussy, pausing to clean it all up. Once they were all soapy, she stepped toward him and kissed him, pressing her body against him, sliding up and down, loving that slippery feeling. They continued to make out in the shower, kissing and feeling, learning the others body. She sighed, "I guess we need to get this soap off, huh?" she said. She rinsed them off, using it as an excuse to touch him all over again. When she was sure all the soap was gone, she dropped to her knees in front of him. She looked up into his eyes as she moved her mouth toward his cock. She stuck her tongue out and licked his head, teasing it, and sucked it into her mouth. She continued to tease and suck slightly, never taking it all the way in her mouth. She knew he was waiting for that moment when she would take it all in, down her throat. She felt a hand on her head, moving down to her neck. It slid into the hair at the back of her head and grabbed a handful. Her pussy flooded when he pushed her mouth on his cock, forcing it all the way in, down her throat. She gagged a little but let him lead her mouth, forcing it down on his cock. He pulled her head back, just far enough where she couldn't reach. She looked up into his face and he looked down in her eyes as he pushed her head back down. He pulled her head back again and tugged on her hair to have her stand. Once standing, he pushed her up against the shower wall and spread her cheeks, shoving his cock into her wet pussy. It didn't take long for either one of them to cum, her knees almost giving out she came so hard. By the time they could breathe normally, they realized the shower had gone cold. They quickly rinsed off again and jumped out of the shower, drying each other off and starting the process all over again. "Where to now?" she asked him. "My room," he said, taking her hand and pulling her down the hallway. Once thru his door, he pulled her in front of him and pushed her back onto his bed, on her back. She scooted back, spreading her legs to make room for him between her thighs. He knelt down on the bed, crawling forward until he was over her, his hips resting on hers. She couldn't resist it, she had to do it. Her legs moved up and locked around his waist, pulling him closer as he leaned down to kiss her. They lay like this, touching and kissing for what seemed to be forever. She couldn't stop her hands from touching wherever they could reach. And he seemed to be having the same problem as she, his hands touching all over her, stroking and tweaking. She could feel him getting hard again, pressing into her. She moved her hips beneath him, teasing him with her wet pussy. She pushed him back, breaking the kiss and kept pushing until he was flat on his back on the bed. she crawled over him and straddled his hips, barely letting the head go into her. His hips moved up but she moved also, not letting him enter her. Finally, he grabbed her hips and shoved her down onto him, pushing as far up into her as he could get. She let out a low moan as he filled her completely, grinding her hips down on him to take even more. She moved on him now, slowly up and down, watching his face as she did. After about 10 strokes, she all but stopped, only allowing the head to enter, barely moving, teasing him again. Then plunging down on him to take him all the way again. She repeated this several times before he got very still. "Hell, I tried but I couldnt't help myself," he said, grinning. She climbed off and fell on the bed next to him. "No prob. I'll just let you catch your breath and then we'll figure out where to next," already thinking of all the possibilities. She was grinning like a fool and thinking about what the rest of the night held in store. The Fight I stand there with a glass bottle in my hand thinking only one thing: what part of his body do I want to hit with this? I don't give a shit that there are twenty people separated from us by only one wall or that my parents and his parents are out there; I don't give a shit if they hear me screaming or not. I was right and he was wrong and he is going to fucking hear it. He looks up at me, our eyes locking, and I can see his jaw clench and flex at the sight of me poised to throw this bottle at him. His hands curl into fists and then open, again and again, and I can hear him struggling to control his breathing; I feel his heart racing from across the room. "Apologize," I say barely more than a whisper. I see his jaw moving and I know he's grinding his teeth. The muscles in his arms are flexing, his blue eyes narrow, his freckled nose scrunches up at me for a second as he takes a quick breath in. "Apologize," I say again, this time with a bite to my voice, my pitch possibly audible to the party we have waiting outside for us. "Apologize or I fucking lose it." I can feel my pulse beating in my head, my grip tightening on the bottle, my breath becoming shallow. He steadies himself before speaking. "Not on your fucking life. Get out of the fucking doorway." I stare him, speechless for a moment before my voice starts rising in pitch. "Where the hell do you think you're going? You're not fucking leaving." "I am leaving this goddamn apartment right now and I'm not fucking coming home tonight. You can entertain these people, you can explain that because you're so fucking stubborn I had to leave, you can explain that you're sorry that I couldn't be here." "Are you fucking delusional? This is your party, this is mostly your family. And you're not coming home?" I say, starting to yell. "Where the fuck do you think you're staying tonight? Is there something else we should be fighting about? Is there something I should know?" He turns away from me, clenching his hands into fists and leaning his body against them into the wall, touching his forehead to it. "I don't know what the hell is wrong with you tonight," he says, "but you're acting like a psycho. Move your ass out of the doorway or I'm going to move it for you." This should phase me; I'm five foot two, he's six foot three. I'm the manager of a bookstore and he's a former marine; I workout by moving stacks of books around my store, he works out by taking part in the occasional triathlon. At this moment though, I could give a fuck. I throw the bottle. He turns just in time to catch it before it hits him in the ass. He looks down at it, then at me. Holding it, I can see that if he squeezes it any harder, it will break. His nostrils are flaring. I go to speak, but in two steps he is on top of me. His right hand drops the bottle and grabs my face, just around my mouth, pushing me back and pinning me up against the door, his left hand holds my right arm back. My free hand grabs his wrist and he stands there, bending his tall, muscular body down, his face just inches from mine, his hot breath on my skin, his blue eyes staring at me for what feels like forever. I try and pull his hand from my face and it begins to register that I have no actual control anymore. My words are useless here; he has more strength in his hand than I have in my entire upper body. I go to speak again and his hand clenches a little harder. He moves closer to me. "This attitude of yours needs to disappear," he says, "and it needs to disappear now." His voice is calm and in control, just above a whisper, but very firm; he doesn't blink as he speaks. "If you ever throw something at me like that again, I'm going to put my fists through these walls so many times that you won't even recognize it as a room." I can feel his pulse through his wrist as he continues to stare at me, his hands not easing their grip. "I have never raised a hand to you and I never will, but if you ever push me like this again, I'm going to fucking leave whether you want me to or not. Now I don't give a shit that you think you're right and you think I'm wrong, or that our friends and family are standing five feet outside this door or that every fucking one of them can hear the shit that's been coming out of your mouth. You need to shut the fuck up and control yourself. You're acting like a spoiled bitch and as much as I love you, I'm not putting up with this shit." He stands there, not moving, barely breathing. My eyes move from his eyes to his mouth, my hand moves from his wrist to his chest, and I gather some of his shirt in my hand. I've never seen him this angry. I let go of his shirt and move my hand to his neck, moving the tips of my fingers along his skin. "I'm sorry," I whisper, looking back up at him. With his hand still holding my face, he pulls me to him, his kiss angry and hard as it is needing and gentle. The suddenness of it takes my breath away and I can still feel the adrenaline moving through my body; my legs are shaking, my hand returns to his wrist where I squeeze him hard, wanting him, hating him, loving him all at once. He pulls back for a second, taking me in with his eyes, his hand still on my mouth when his grip softens and instead of holding me back, he's drawing me in again. I can still feel the tension in his body as he lets my arm go and I can feel him with my hands; his arms and back, even his mouth is tensed as if he's still restraining his anger. It's alarming and exciting all at the same time. His one hand is still on my face and he pushes me harder into the door as his kiss becomes deeper. I feel his other hand move to my ass and then lift me up, pinning me off the ground against his body and the door, his dick hard through his pants. His mouth is hungry for mine and he alternates between soft and slow and hard and deep; our tongues move between playing with each other and fighting with each other, his hands mimicking his emotions. I bite his lips and he pulls back for a second to look at me; he moves to kiss me again and I bite him again. Then he buries his face in my neck, biting, nibbling, kissing, biting. I feel his hand move from my face and slide up my back, his other hand holding my ass as he moves me from the wall and carries me over to the bed. He drops me down and his face pulls away from mine, his eyes travelling all over my body, taking in the way my skirt is scrunched up around my thighs, the way my hair is tangled and messy. The muscles in his jaw flex again and I can no longer tell if it's anger or lust that I'm seeing. He gets onto the bed, laying himself on top of me as he grabs both my wrists and pins them above my head. "You're going to be quiet. I don't want to hear a fucking sound out of you right now." I blink and nod my head. Still looking me in the eye, he pins both my hands underneath his one hand while the other hand reaches underneath my skirt, grabs my underwear at one side and pulls; I hear a ripping sound and I gasp. He moves his face closer to mine, those blue eyes boring into me and says "Not a fucking sound." He pauses a second before bringing his mouth to mine, slow at first, his lips grazing my lips, his tongue searching my mouth for a second and then disappearing. I feel his hand moving to the other side of my hips, his fingers hooking around the other side of my underwear, another pull and a tear. My sound this time is lost in his mouth as I feel him pull my underwear away from me entirely. He moves my hands down to his pants, where I pull at his belt and the button and zipper on his cackies. I can feel his dick pushing through his boxers as I go to push his pants away. I get everything off of him and he sits back on his legs, pulling his shirt over his head. His body is lean and strong and I can see him glistening with sweat already, a green shamrock on his shoulder the only color on his beautiful Irish body. "Come here," he says and I sit up, closer to him. He pulls my shirt over my head and stares at me, my body for a minute. He still looks angry. "Go," he says. It takes a second for me to understand what he's talking about, but then I shift my focus from his face to his cock and see what he wants; I bend towards his dick. I hear him take a deep breath as I take his dick in my hand and then start running my hot, wet tongue along the bottom of his shaft, then move to his head, then down again. His hand roughly grabs my hair as I put him in my mouth, taking as much of him as I can; even though I'm blessed not to have a gag reflex, his dick is huge. I feel it hit the back of my throat and I wrap my hand around his base, slowly starting to move him in and out of my mouth. I alternate between being gentle and intentional and I can hear it in the way he's breathing that he loves what I'm doing. I pull him out of my mouth and run my tongue along his length again, sucking on his head, then taking him in my mouth again. I feel his dick getting harder and harder in my mouth, and just as I think he's about to cum, he pulls my head away, has me sit up straight, turns me around and bends me over. I feel his big, strong hands move my skirt up around my waist, and he pauses for just a second with the tip of his cock waiting to enter me. Then he pushes forward and I moan and say "fuck" simultaneously as he fills me up. He grabs my hair and pulls my head back and says very quietly "Shut the fuck up." I bite down on my lower lip to keep the noise in, then, very quietly respond "Fuck you." I hear him smile and laugh for a second, then start pounding into my pussy from behind. I try and pull my head away from his grasp but he whispers "no", so I pull a pillow up to my face to stifle my sounds. His other hand reaches around in front of my body and his fingers find my clit and start to rub. He can feel me struggling to keep myself quiet, so he lets go of my hair and I bend my head all the way down to the bed, the pillow swallowing up my noise. With my right hand I reach to his ass and dig my nails into him; his hands wrap around my hips to pull himself deeper and deeper into me. He feels that I'm about to cum and he stops everything. "It's not going to end like this," he says hoarsely. He pulls himself out of me and turns me over, laying me down on my back. He slowly lowers himself on top of me, searching me over as he does so, smiling for a second, then looking me in the eye as he slides his throbbing cock into me. I take a sharp intake of air, my back arching up off the bed, my eyes closing in pleasure. I feel his mouth on my neck, my tits, his hands pulling them out of my bra, his teeth and tongue playing with my hard nipples. He moves slowly in and out of me, feeling me with his hands, his dick bringing me closer and closer to pleasure with every slide. I can feel my legs shaking as I wrap them around his body, my nails scratching into the skin on his back, and his mouth finds my mouth, his tongue finds my tongue, needing and gentle all at the same time. Our kisses slow but get harder as his cock pushes into me deeper and faster and I feel myself on the verge of cumming. "Open your eyes," he whispers. I open them, my blue-green eyes finding his blue eyes and we watch each others faces as we both cum. I can feel his warmth inside me and he can feel my pussy pulsing around his dick. I can feel his arms shaking on either side of me and my whole body shaking as I continue to orgasm. Finally my body rests and he slows his movements to a stop and we stare at each other. "I'm sorry about tonight. I love you, but you were a bitch," he says, his fingers gently moving a piece of hair away from my face. "I'm sorry too, but you were wrong." He laughs for a second, then says, "That's something we can talk about later." He goes to move off of me and I stop him, grabbing his arms with my hands. He looks at me. "I love you," I say. "I love you too," he says. He lowers his mouth to mine, slowly, softly, gently kissing me. We both start to feel aroused again, but we force ourselves to separate. "Later," he whispers, and we get off the bed. The Fight I don't remember what the fight was about. We were so mad at each other. The words had risen to a fever pitch. I turned to say something back to you, but the way your eyes looked stopped me. I could see the vein pulsing in your neck and all I wanted to do was to kiss you there, to calm its frenzied beating. You must have read my face because you stopped, mouth part way open. I wanted to just smash my lips to yours, explore that open space with my tongue, taste your anger. Suddenly, you grabbed me, pulling me roughly into your arms. You must have read my mind, the way you always do because you kissed me the way I had wanted to kiss you. The taste of our anger was sweet, our tongues fighting each other as we had just done. My body awakened with the white hot desire that only you could evoke, quickly spreading from my breast down to my thighs. I felt the fire in your loins, the hardness growing almost instantly.You filled your hand with my hair and pulled my head back, frantically kissing, licking, nipping only hard enough to bring moans of pleasure from my bruised lips. My lips find the beating pulse, softly kissing,your words soft in my ear. "Vous me faire tellement en colère, mon ange" This only makes me hotter, as you know too well. "Ma colère se transforme en passion quand je regarde dans les yeux!" These words I don't quite understand, but the meaning of some of them I know well. I cannot stand it any longer, I must feel your skin against mine. Again, as if you read my mind, you push back and take of your shirt, you reach and yank my blouse open. The buttons scatter around the room. I have no fear of you, only the burning passion for your body. Your lips find mine again as you release the front clasp of my bra. You take my nipple in your mouth, the sweet pain of your teeth on my flesh only driving the embers glowing between my legs to a white hot flame. Back against the wall you push me, your hand going under my skirt, trying to find my most sensitive spot. The heat of your anger and desire rose as you couldn't get to where your hand wanted to be. Finally finding the waist band, you ripped them down and away. Tossing my ruined panties away, your finger found what they were hungry for. You inserted a finger into my wetness, slowly sliding it upwards over my swollen clit, making me moan with ecstasy. Your lips were still tasting mine, my earlobes, my neck. "Je vais vous le goût, mon amour" you whisper, my heart races. "Alors vous avez le goût moi..alors je vais conduire ma bite jusqu'à ce que vous en supplie-moi de cesser de". I gasp, you know I don't understand all what you are telling me, but my anticipation is almost to painful to bear. "Mais je ne vais pas arrêter ....... pas jusqu'à ce que j'ai eu mon combler de vous." My moans of pleasure increase, my hands roam your body. Your skin so sensous to my fingertips, they find your nipple. I softly pinch it, releasing a primal sound from your lips on my neck. This only excites me more, so I replace my fingers with my mouth. I nip and lick your chest, savoring your taste so manly and salt y but sweet as nectar to me. Your breath coming harder with the pleasure I am giving you with my lips, my tongue, my teeth. "Nous ne nous arrêterons pas jusqu'à ce que nous atteignions le sommet comme un". Your fingers have made me wet, my clitoris awaiting release, swollen with pleasure and need. You go to your knees, raising my skirt where you lick up one thigh, then the other, tasting my juices that had run there from the toil of your fingers. This excites me greatly as I watch you do this. I push you back to release my skirt, it's folds blocking my view of your work. You toss it over by my discarded panties. Your tongue goes back to work, slowly stroking my sweet spot. You insert a finger, in and out, matching the strokes of your tongue. Your tongue goes around and around my clit, your finger working my inner places as well. You suddenly suck it like a baby latching on to it's mothers breast. My moans become louder, the sensation of the sucking pushing me towards the edge, close to the point of no return."Yes, Amant, s'il vous plaît." I try to hold you where you are, but you gently remove my hands and rise to meet my eyes. I look at yours, they mirror mine, smokey with lust. "No, Angel, not yet. No matter how you beg. We will come as one when it is time". The english you spoke brought me up from my fog. The urge to have you in my mouth, tasting the most manly of flavors, overwhelmed me. My hands fumbled with your belt, finally releasing it, the snap and zipper done, I fell to my knees, taking all with me. Your member sprang free, hard with the lust burning there. My tongue tasted you, around, down, under, out to the head. It was moist with a wonderful salty flavor. I could wait no more, I took it between my lips, Your sharp intake of breath let me know that the feel of my lips on you was very good. I sucked and licked, the louder and quicker your moans came, the harder I worked. Oh, the sweet labor of tasting you drove me crazy. You reached down, grabbed my arm and jerked me up. " Now, Mon Ange, I must be inside you". "Oui, My sweet, I am so ready for you to fill my belly with your shaft". My words were shakey with desire. Backed against the wall, you grasped one leg, lifted it up, and in one motion, drove your penis deep inside me. My scream of pleasure came long and loud. "Oh My God, yes.. fuck me". " Oui, Mon Ange, I will till you beg for relief." You lift my other leg, holding me off the floor, spearing me into the wall, never losing the rhythum. One of my hands slides off your shoulder down to my wet clit, massaging it as you stab into my slit. The feeling is ecstasy! You feel like a white hot spear inside me. We look into each others eyes as our passionate sounds become one. "please love me, give me release, take me there now, yes, yes!" Who is speaking, I don't know, our sounds are one. Both hands on your sholders now, I arch and thrust to meet each stroke. Our mutual animal sounds and moans fill the air. The singular scream signals the combined strength of our mutual climax. I feel your hot seed spill into my stomach, making my climax even more intense. You drop one of my legs, then the other. We cling to each other, leaning against the wall. Neither trust their legs to hold them up. The juices of our lovemaking slowly making tracks down our legs. Our breathing, fast and in unison. Down we slide, never leaving each others arms. You roll to your back, taking me with you, still locked in your arms. We lay together, me on top of you, head on your chest, listening to your heart beat. The afterglow illuminating us. I raise up, look into your satisfied eyes. You had a smug look on your face. I smile. "Are you trying to make me mad again", I say, not angry because I know what you are thinking. "Only, Mon Ange, if it ends the same. Je ferai de toi fou de tous les jours" I didn't quite know what this meant, but I knew it would be fun making you tell me! The Fight Author's note: this may be intense for some readers. It is a rape fantasy, so I am warning you now. But I didn't write it to glorify rape. It is more of a look into how a submissive can fight back when ordered to. You have been warned. Enjoy! PS - I didn't include the aftercare portion of this scene, but as always it is THE MOST IMPORTANT PART of any scene, especially one like this. * It was getting late. Very late. I was waiting, ready, prepared as He had ordered. Braided pigtails, throw-away lingerie, and heavy make-up. Sitting in the old Motel room, I was excited, wound up. I knew what was going to happen tonight. Tonight we were going to act out one of my deepest darkest fantasies. How could a girl not be nervous, excited, thrilled? But I was bitter, too. It was so late. I was expecting him hours ago. I sat there, vowing not to fall asleep in this seedy hotel room alone. My blood was boiling, I was wet with anticipation, and I didn't know what was up or down anymore. How could I possibly fall asleep like that? tick, tock The damn clock was so loud. It was late. How was I so sleepy? tick, tock I was mad. It was late... tick, tock ....It was so late..... tick, tock tick, tock tick, to- I woke up with a start, scared out of my mind. A strong hand was forcing itself onto my mouth, so I couldn't scream. I tried to open my eyes, but it was so dark. I didn't know where I was, I didn't know what was happening. All I knew was that I was being restrained, and couldn't do anything about it. Then I remembered that I had arms. I clawed at my attacker, hitting, punching, scratching. But I had just woken up. I was weak and confused. My blows did nothing, my scratches were pathetic. I heard a soft chuckle come from the body above me, and it all clicked into place. It was Him. We were supposed to do a rape scene tonight. He wanted me to fight back. I had another moment of panic, but this time I froze. Could I do this? Could I really fight my Master, the man that I loved? SLAP My head rang from the heavy hit He had laid on my cheek. Oh yes, I could fight Him. I could do anything He asked. He told me to fight, and damnit, I would fight. "My pet, I am going to remove my hand. You are not to scream. If you do, you will be very sorry. And fight, my pet. Fight as if your life depended on it." With my wits and strength returning, I started to really struggle. I kicked, I scratched. I know that I got Him a few times, hard. I wiggled and squirmed, got away and was re-captured. This went on for a few minutes, or seconds, or hours. Time was irrelevant in the moment; all that mattered was that I escape, and be quiet. I still hadn't let Him enter me. He couldn't keep me pinned down long enough to fuck me. But I was getting tired. He only had to restrain me; I had to fight like a bucking bronco every second. My reactions were slowing, and He was getting better at anticipating me. Finally, He pinned me down, and this time I couldn't escape. I was on the edge of the bed, feet on the floor, and head mashed into some pillows. I heard fabric ripping, and I realized my panties were gone. This is it. He's going to do it I thought. And after all of that struggle, I couldn't tell if I was terrified or turned on. He was my Sir, my Master. I wanted Him. I always wanted Him. But after fighting so hard, you lose a sense of reality, of truth. I didn't know if it was a fantasy anymore. Before I could think about it more, or make any decision, I felt His fingers brutally enter me. My reaction was instant and unthinking: I had to get away from Him. He was going to rape me. I squirmed, but He was too strong. He wasn't toying with me any longer. He leaned down, and growled in my ear, "Get on the bed, you little slut." With that, He threw me like a bowling ball, fingers still inside of me. It was then I realized how strong He was, and how little chance I had. But I've never been the type to just give up. I used this opportunity to get away again, but there was nowhere to hide. The room was small, and I found myself against a wall, with no place to run. He chuckled at my panicked look. "My pet, you are going to regret that one." He lunged, and I dodged, but it was too late. In the blink of an eye, He was behind me, and I was bent over the bed, arms pinned to my side, and He was fucking me. Hard. And, well, I couldn't fight anymore. I wanted this. He felt amazing as always, and I found myself screaming, not in fear, but in pleasure as He grabbed the back of my neck for leverage. Before I knew it, He was cumming, and I was cumming with Him. After a few minutes, of panting, with Him still on top of me, He leaned close to my ear and said, "My pet, I love you." The Fight I saw Mr. and Mrs. French stopped at the light where Southgate crosses Euclid Avenue and becomes Hill Street. Before they put up a stoplight, there was only a stop sign. Euclid Avenue was called Nicolas. Back then, Mr. French's old Plymouth, with its huge fins in the back, would have still attracted attention. I was probably the only one who noticed it today. I wondered if they noticed the line of kids leaving the junior high and crossing the vacant lot. If they did, I wondered what they thought was happening. Maybe they thought it was some kind of after school field trip, or a science teacher who led them to see the home of a trapdoor spider, or some such thing. More likely, they would assume that the Pink Spot was once again under new management. Back when Euclid Avenue was still called Nicolas, the Pink Spot was one of the original McDonald's. One day, the little man on the McDonald's sign became a pink circle. Its arches had been painted pink. They would be painted white and then pink again for years. Twice a year, the Pink Spot would be under new management. There was always a Grand Opening, and each new owner thought selling hamburgers for a dime would be great for business. It was always a neighborhood event, and a source of futile encouragement for the new owners. Burgers at The Pink Spot for a dime was a party. But the same burger for a quarter was only for the desperate. As we made our way across the vacant lot, I realized that this was the first time I'd ever cut across the lot. When I wasn't in school and I took Mike to the store, I always went barefoot. Because of the stickers, there's no way you could cross that field without shoes. Today, as I crossed the lot with a hundred kids, I wore my tennis shoes. They weren't real Jack Percels, but they looked like them. Only the imprint in the dust gave them away as J.C. Penny's. A lot of the guys were wearing their wingtips. With wingtips, the important thing to have was leather soles. As I walked, I noticed who was wearing leather soles. Guys like Biff Rowe, whose father had an important job at the library, wore the real ones. Guys like Terry Redford wore the fake ones. Even though my wingtips were the fake kind, I wish I had them on today. This was the first time since I started the seventh grade that I'd been to a fight. I saw part of one, once. Instead of the usual spot, I saw Cliff Cooper and Vince Cameron surrounded by a crowd of kids in the alley that divides David Potter's house from Mark and Kirk Parish. I was on my way home when I saw them. They stood there like boxers, hands held up in fists while they circled each other around the bunch of kids that came to watch. I guess I missed most of it, because Vince's pale white face had some red splotches on it. He may have gotten hit, but the look in his eye said that he wasn't ready to quit. But two cars were trying to get in the alley, so they decided to finish the fight at the usual place. I was almost home, and I didn't want to see it, anyway. I knew I would hear all about it in school the next day. As we walked to the alley behind Linda Hayes' house, I thought about school fights and why they happened. For guys like Vince Cameron and Cliff Cooper, these fights weren't really about school. It was about Winchell's Donut House, where the tough kids hung out before and after school. This is where they smoked cigarettes and drank cokes to imitate the older crowd that would come later. I had never been to Winchell's, except on rare Sunday mornings when my mom would send me out to get donuts. John Garcia went there, sometimes. John was the kind of guy that was able to hang out with any group of kids. He said that there was one table that was for the toughest guy there and his friends. When guys like that fought, it was for that table. For the guys that were good at sports, fights happened because of something that happened during a football game, or some other game. These fights weren't as dirty as the Winchell's fights. There was never any kicking or wearing a big ring while punching the other guy. Sometimes, there would be two guys that just didn't like each other. They may not be as big as the guys from Winchell's or the sports guys, but they fought mad. Mad fights are just as popular for a crowd of kids to watch. Harold Gretzer was a little guy, way smaller than me, but for some reason John Garcia couldn't stand him, and John was pretty big. "I'm gonna kick his ass!" John said to me once. "Why?" I asked him. "What would that prove, that you can beat up a guy half as big as you?" John never hurt Harold, but he drew a mustache on Harold's picture in every yearbook he signed. Today's fight was the only bully fight that ever happened after school. Usually, a bully just picks on a kid until some teacher tells him to knock it off. Sometimes, the bully just gets tired of his victim or finds someone else to pick on. Terry Redford had been bringing this on for a long time. Smashing lunch bags, taunting, pushing me in the hallway and ruining schoolwork. He even took my bicycle, and wouldn't give it back until I started for home to call the police. Terry went to a different elementary school, so I didn't know him at all. Terry sat behind me in Math. I was having enough trouble with my lessons, but when he wouldn't stop drawing on my neck with a ball point pen one day, I'd finally had enough and asked Mrs. Baldwin to make him stop. "You're gonna get it!" he hissed at me. That happened during first period. For the rest of the day, kids kept telling me that Terry was gonna kick my ass. I was so sick of Terry and the whole thing, I just wanted it to end. We had P.E. together, the last class of the day. I expected him to do something then, and that would be the end of it. That's exactly what he did. As soon as I came out on the field, he came at me. He hit me a couple of times and tripped me. I got up and brushed myself off, glad it was over. Boy, was I wrong about that! I was already hurt because I didn't know how to make a fist. I was sticking my thumb inside my fingers. I didn't hit him, he accidentally hit my hand and sprained my thumb. At three o'clock, I started walking home. I didn't ride my bike to school because I lived so close that it wasn't worth it. As I walked, a crowd of kids began to gather around me. The crowd grew so large that I wasn't able to go straight to the stoplight. I was steered towards the vacant lot. As we walked down the path that led to the alley, I realized that there was no way I was gonna get out of fighting Terry. I had this jacket that my big sisters talked my mom into buying for me. It looked like animal fur and was very popular at Sunny Hills and Fullerton High schools. I left it on, figuring that it was more important to cushion Terry's punches than to make it easier for me to hit him. "Take off your glasses!" Terry ordered. "I can't see without them," I replied. It was true. I was so nearsighted that without them, Terry would be nothing but a blur. "Then there's gonna be kicking!" was his answer. I might as well have taken them off, because the first punch broke my glasses in half. They fell to the ground, right at his feet. They told me later that Terry stepped on them on purpose before kicking me in the leg with his big, hard wingtips. I have no idea how long the "fight" lasted. All I remember was trying to dodge his kicks while he used my face for a punching bag. Finally, kids started walking away. "I thought there was gonna be a fight," I heard someone say. Richard Angeleno found my glasses and walked his bike as he helped me home. There was a couple of my friends with me, but I couldn't see them to know who they were. I just remember everyone asking me why I didn't fight back, or why I fought him in the first place. Everyone kept saying that I should have taken off my glasses. I wish that I had. I had to miss school the next day so my mom could take me to Mr. Smith to fix my glasses. He said it would take a couple of weeks, so he put my old, scratched lenses in the only pair that would take them. I had to return to school wearing big, dorky gray frames over my two black eyes. I was expecting the humiliation of returning to school wearing those glasses with two black eyes would be worse than the fight. Well, I was wrong about that, too. It turned out that most of the kids felt sorry for me. They thought Terry was a prick for picking on someone smaller than him who couldn't even see to protect himself. And the weirdest thing was that I suddenly found myself with a bunch of new friends—new friends who were all big guys. The only further humiliation of my fight came from my own mother. Months later, Mom and I went to Open House Night at school. I was showing her something that I made in Art class when I saw Terry and his mother. They were on the other side of the classroom when I saw him. I don't know if Terry saw me, because he never looked over at us. In fact, I tried to get a look at his face, but he kept his head down the whole time. I thought of confronting him right there in front of our mothers. I wanted him to explain to them why he bullied me, took my Stingray and rode in circles around me until I was almost home. I wanted him to tell our mothers why he beat me up and broke my glasses. I wanted to know what it was that I ever did to him and why he would hurt me as bad as he did. I didn't. I knew it would make a scene and probably start something else and I didn't want that. He'd left me alone since the fight. I wanted to keep it that way. I don't know why, but as Mom and I left the classroom, I pointed Terry out to her and told her that he was the kid who beat me up. Mom said, "That's him? I thought you said he was much bigger than you." David Stein and I didn't hang out together, but we were friends. When I needed a drummer for my Beach Boys lip-sync band in the fifth grade, David was happy to do it. I don't know why he fought Terry. I don't think it was to avenge me. I'm guessing that Terry thought he could win, because David was a head shorter than him. It was now obvious that Terry was trying to fight his way up the ranks. I think a lot of kids didn't think my fight counted and Dave was a nice guy that everyone liked, so the cheers were for Dave. I was there to watch the fight. The whole crowd stopped the fight quickly, saying they should wait until David got the cast taken off his arm and was ready for a fair fight. They fought long enough for everyone to see that Terry would have his hands full fighting Dave when his arm healed. There never was another fight between those two because my new friend, Lester Mesa, offered to fight Terry. Lester wasn't a fighter, he was just happy to be a part in everything. Lester was the guy who broke David's arm in a fight, so Terry never fought Lester, either. Terry did fight Robert Volmer, who was game but just too small. He was even smaller than me, but he sure could fight! I learned to stay away from fights but it wasn't that hard because I never faced any more bullies. Well, at least not in a vacant lot with a gang of shouting kids. ***** Author's note: I couldn't say for sure if this fight was the beginning of the skill I've always had for controlling big angry guys. I once tended a bar that was always full of bikers and construction workers. The phone behind the bar could only receive calls, so I couldn't call the cops if there was trouble. I have to give credit to Kay, the barmaid who taught me how to tend bar, for the ability to assume authority without bloodshed. I can't count the times I've had some drunk hulk looming over me and saying, "If it was anyone else but you..." lolol