3 comments/ 33368 views/ 2 favorites Lesson in Modern Culture By: MaynaweLovely It was a crisp autumn afternoon. The leaves falling from the trees planted between blocks of cement had finally fallen, and made a crunching sound beneath the soles of her black shoes. The sky had a darkening tone to it; grey clouds were billowing in the sky, speaking of rain. She had just made it up under the arch of the museum as the droplets began to splash upon the earth. The museum added a chill to her flesh, the air conditioning drafting overhead. She had already covered up to the third corridor since her arrival to this new city. Her aunt thought the culture would do her some good, when in reality the culture was the only thing allowing her the chance to feel at home, to feel like she had some friends. At eighteen, her friends were not of flesh and blood, but of pastels and water colors. She seated herself before her favorite Van Gogh, as she always did upon her arrival here. Except today, her usual bench was not empty. A man sat here, crouched over as he sat, his elbows on his knees, his chin resting in his palms. He seemed bored in this position, but as she drew near, the look of contemplation in his eyes became evident. He had long golden locks that laid wispily about his shoulders, a plain white t-shirt, and jeans with wore out tears in the knees. He was what anyone from her side of town would consider trash, but the way he looked at the picture drew in her attention. She sat down beside him on the cold marble bench, and he did not move over to allow her more space. He remained in his position undisturbed. She drew out a notebook, and opened up to a blank page, beginning to write in her journal. She wrote mostly about the art that she saw, and the people around her. Today was no different, in that she chose to write about the way he looked at the painting. It was from this angle she noticed his eyes were a jaded shade of green. His flesh was tanned, and his shirt exposed the muscular build of his arms that would suggest hard labor, at least implied that with the dust on his torn jeans. He was handsome regardless of how he looked to the women at the desk who sort of turned their nose up at him. "I can feel your eyes on me. Why is that?" His voice came deep, he was grown, and of age in his mid-twenties no doughtily. She blushed at the fact that she had been caught, and then shrugged. "There is a reason in everything you do." He drew a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, and flipped open the top of the box. She stared at the box, and the precious painting, "You are not suppose to smoke in here." "Do you work here?" He looked at her with distaste. "No, but I enjoy these paintings, and I want others to be able to in the years to come." She sat up more confidently, smoothed her skirt over her legs as she crossed them. "I see. Then I guess we have a predicament." "How so?" She raised a brow at him. "I want to smoke, and you do not want me to." He smirked, flipping the box shut, "But I will submit to your request, seeing as those ninnies behind that desk would get after me as well." He settled the box back into his pocket, and offered his hand, "I am Gabriel." Her hand slid into his, and took it firmly, shaking, "Miaka, but please, just call me Mia." "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance Mia." He drew his hand away slowly, his eyes still holding hers captive. "The pleasure is mine." She smiled softly, before looking down at the pages she had written. "What are you writing about?" He stared at the painting as he spoke. She blushed, but answered truthfully. "What about me?" He asked with a smirk drawing at the corners of his lips. "What you look like and how you seem to be studying this painting." She closed the book in her lap, and let it fall into her pack, before standing up. She slung her pack over her shoulder, and glanced at her watch. She would be expected home within the hour. "It was a pleasure meeting you, but I must go." She turned and made her way to the doors. She started down the stairs, and stopped, reaching for her pack as the rain began to drench her. Gabriel passed by her, the rain soaking his t-shirt enough to see the outlines of the flesh beneath. "Are you walking in this weather?" I nodded, "I just live a few blocks and the exercise is good for me." "Not in this weather. Come on." He moved down to the curb, hailing a cab. It only took a moment before one merged to the edge of the sidewalk, and he opened the door. She held her lower lip between her teeth, considering the consequences as she had been taught in her younger years. He might rape her, kill her... But no, this was a cab, with a driver, it was safe... And dry. She climbed into the cab, and he followed in after her. He spoke an address to the driver. "That is not my apartment." "I know." He looked down at her for some sort of objection, and as she went to give one, her lips pressed together. She was curious about him. It took a few moments, and a few more turns before they reached the south side of town. The cab drew off in front of an old brick building that looked like it had been there since the 1920's, and unkempt in the years since. He opened the door, and slid out before waiting for her to follow his lead. She followed him through the rain and into the "lobby" of his apartment building. There was no security man at a desk; there was no elevator, no carpets. The floor had scuff marks on it, and as her eyes traveled up over the walls, she noticed the paint was chipped. The stairway was worse; the railing needed to be sanded, and there were cracks in the steps. He made note of certain places she should be careful of her step. Finally, they came to a door, and he opened it, pushing the door open, and passing through first. He switched on a light, and moved into the room, kicking off his shoes, and setting his keys on the table. She moved into the room cautiously, as if it might bite her at any moment. It was a little studio, the only separate rooms being the bathroom and kitchen. His bed was a disarray of sheets and pillows, looking of endless nights of lost sleep. He looked at her, and drew near, brushing a lock of her black hair from her face, and tucking it behind her ear. She looked up at him nervously, and his eyes gave a strange look into hers. "How old are you?" She asked, swallowing a bit hard. "Twenty-five." He looked into her eyes, as if waiting for her to push away and leave, but she stayed. "I am eighteen." She looked up at him, as if waiting for the same reaction. But he stayed. "So what?" He pressed her back against the wall beside his door. One of his hands rested beside her head against the wall, placing her in an inescapable position between his arm and the corner the wall and door made. His free hand slid down her side, and to her thigh, working up the plaid of her skirt, and sliding two fingers against her lace-covered slit. As he felt her wetness, she heard a moan rise from his throat, as a whimper arose from her own. He bunched her panties into his fist, and pulled them down about her knees, as two fingers moved up, and slipped between the folds of wet flesh, into the depths of her pussy. "You're so tight..." She held her lower lip between her teeth, trembling as he touched her. Her face flustering as she moaned softly against his shoulder, "I have never felt this before..." She whispered softly. "Never felt it like this, or at all?" He drew his head back, and looked into her eyes. She looked up at him unsuringly, as his fingers paused. She thought he might pull away, "Never at all." This confession only seemed to excite him more. He drew her tightly against him, and took her hand, pressing it to his pants, "See what you did to me?" He said it as if it were a scolding, and took her to his bed. He laid her back, and he pulled down her panties completely as he knelt before her. His hands slid between her closed thighs, and parted them for his enjoyment. His eyes wandered up her skirt, and her face turned red as his mouth found her. His hands pushed up her skirt, and cries of pleasure escaped her lips, as she squirmed, unsure of what to do with her hands, unsure of what to do with herself. Were her cries as inexperienced as her body? What did she sound like to him? More importantly, what did she taste like? Did he prefer shaved women as apposed to her trimmed pussy? She trembled at his mouth, and squirmed as his fingers joined his tongue, helping along inside of her. It was not long before she felt a wave of heat come over her body, her body trembling wildly, as she could not grip the bedding enough to gain control over the pleasure. He raised his head as the pleasure subsided, and she looked up at him, questioning what had just happened. What was the tremor between her thighs that rose throughout her body causing her to arch like that? Was it the climax she had read of in those trashy romance novels they passed around secretly in the school? He did not give her much time to recover, before sliding up on the bed, between her legs, and lifting her shirt up over her head. He pulled her bra down under her breasts, and lowered his head, licking and flicking his tongue against her nipples, nibbling and sucking at them. She moaned softly, her hands slowly, unsuringly moving up through his hair, and stroking the back of his neck. He reached down lifting her skirt, and then undressed before her. He took her hand, placing it on his cock. It was not hard like wood, as they described it in a book, but the flesh was tight, and a soft yet hard firmness. He was large, and she wondered how that fit between her legs. He laid her back, without asking if she was sure or not, and parted her thighs. She looked around scared, unsure of what she was doing, and he took her chin, forcing her to look into his eyes. She swallowed hard as he placed the tip of his length at her opening, before pushing slowly into her. The pain overwhelmed her at first, so much that a cry forced its way from her mouth, and it intensified for another moment as she felt flesh break. He rested deep within her for a moment, not moving, letting her adjust. He kissed her forehead, the first and only sign of tenderness. He drew back, and moved in her again, the pain forcing its self through her body once again. She cried out, digging her nails into the flesh of his back, as if hurting him for hurting her. He moved slowly, but with force, whispering to her how tight she was, and how she was pleasuring him. He began moving faster, and the pain began to subside. His mouth moved over her body, and he moved her into various positions that he liked. He bent her over his bed and took her from behind; he made her sit on top of him as he played with her tits; he made her get on her knees as he took her mouth. Finally, he was resting between her thighs again. She laid upon her back, her arms wrapped around him, letting him lead her into the world of sex. He never kissed her, or held her close, and when she went to draw him in, he only drew away. He drew her legs over his shoulders, and began to fuck her from a vertical angle. She felt the pleasure of heat she had felt before mount again between her legs. She trembled wildly beneath him, as he continued to take her from that angle. And as she settled from her orgasm, a wet heat filled between her legs as he shuddered with a groan. He continued thrusting as this heat filled between her thighs, and then he drew out, putting his cock at her mouth, commanding her to clean their sex off of his cock. And as the moment subsided, he did not hold her, or cuddle her in any way. He did not kiss her, or help her dress as she stumbled for her clothes. He simply put on his pants, and went into the kitchen. She dressed, and winced as she walked. It hurt, yet felt good at the same time. She looked at the kitchen, and moved to him, trying to kiss him in someway, but he only pushed her away, and handed her a little money for a cab. "You need to go home." He walked her to the door, and kissed her forehead once again, before letting her out. He shut the door in her face, and she looked at the door with a sigh of sadness, before moving down the stairs, and back to reality. Lesson in Modern Culture Ch. 02 Reality soon found her as she sat in the cab, resting her head against the window. Between her thighs a gentle throbbing still existed, reminding her that what had passed had really occurred. In a way, she was sickened by her actions, giving herself to such a disgusting man; her aunt would kill her if she ever knew. The other part of her, well, was really quite torn. Her mind was blank, and hatred seeped within her veins to her heart, and as tears welled and slipped from her eyes, she realized she could not hate Gabriel for her weakness, but only herself. It was her loneliness in life that threw her into his arms. She fingered the hem of her skirt, and choked back the tears. She imaged the disgust she felt was somewhat what women who had been raped felt. Yes, she had been willing, but her heart had been stolen. People had sex all the time without feeling anything, at least that is what the magazines she read told her. But if that was all true, why did she know feel like her heart was being torn into two? The cab driver pulled up outside of her apartment building. She slung her bag over her shoulder, paid the man, and walked out into the night. The doorman met her with a smiling face, which soon faded when he saw the tears. He asked no questions, but handed her a handkerchief. She thanked him, and moved to the elevator, riding up to the fourth floor. She still had some music to face tonight. She walked down the hall, placing her key in the door, and turning the key. The door opened to silence. Her aunt was asleep. Half of her sighed in relief, the other had wanted her to scold her, and then ask her why she was crying. She wanted to fall into her aunt's arms and sob her eyes out, telling her she had been so stupid, and that she wanted to die. Mia moved into her room, closed the door, and fell upon her bed. The book bag fell to the floor with a thud, and glancing at the clock, she saw an hour till midnight. The strength left her body, and as her head hit the pillow, she cried her last ounces of strength out into the linen. In the morning, she awoke to her aunt shaking her, "Wake up! It is time for school!" She was not asking where she had been last night. She woke up groggy, and slowly got out of bed in a zombie-like state. "My! Your eyes are all puffy! Did you forget to take your allergy medication?" She nodded. There was no use in crying out a broken heart again. She got up, and somehow made it to the shower. After that she somehow made it to school, and somehow found her way through her day. She couldn't remember how she did on her Chemistry test, and even though she had skipped lunch, she didn't realize her hunger. She made her way out the school doors and down the path somehow. She heard someone calling to someone. She kept walking. A hand wrapped around her wrist, "Mia?" She turned her head slowly, "My God what happened to you?" She looked up at the office secretary. "N-Nothing." She stuttered out. "Oh." She did not push, and for that she was thankful, "There was a message for you in the office." The woman handed her an envelope, and a smile, secretly telling her to cheer up. "Thank you." Mia looked down at the envelope. It was not her aunt's handwriting. She moved off to the gate that surrounded the school's yard, and leaned against it as she torn open the envelope. She drew out the letter, and read: Mia, Meet me at my apartment after you get out of school. Gabriel She looked up at the sky, and back down at the letter. She shook her head. She shouldn't go. He would probably just... she sighed softly. Maybe he wanted a relationship? Maybe he had made a mistake last night when he told her to leave? Her hopes were growing quickly, and she couldn't stop them. She hailed a cab, and with what seemed like forever, made it to his apartment door. She knocked twice. Time passed, and she heard someone trip over something and curse. It was him. He opened the door, wearing nothing but a pair of drawstring pants. She felt her stomach twist into a dozen more knots, as it was already in a hundred. "Come in." He moved back into the room and left the door open. He drew out a cigarette, and lit it as he sat on the couch. She entered the room, and closed the door behind her. She looked at him as she stood by the door, her legs not having the strength to really set her free. She stared at him. "Aren't you going to scold me for smoking?" He half-smiled, as if it were amusing him. She shook her head, and looked down at her shoes. It seemed like the thing to do. "Come sit down. You are driving me nuts standing around like that." She moved to the opposite chair, and sat down. She looked around his apartment, seeing paintings of various nude women. He was also an artist. She tossed the note down at his feet, as if demanding him to explain it. He looked down at the note, then back at her with an amused glance. "No, I am not going to purpose." He winked, and she felt like crying. He itched his nose with the hand that held his cigarette. "Look... I guess..." He scratched the back of his neck, "I am not used to doing this." He looked up at her, "I guess I just wanted to say... Do you want a drink?" He got up moving kind of awkwardly to a table that held some wine and other hard liquors. She folded her arms across her chest, feeling an opportunity for a bite, "Is that all you wanted? You dragged me down here to ask if I wanted a drink?" He turned around with a bemused look. She stood, slinging her bag over her shoulder, "Because if that is it, I really do not have the time for this." Might as well as walk away from this with a little pride. Maybe then it would not hurt as much. He set the wine bottle down, and moved back over to her, pulling her bag from her shoulder and letting it fall to the ground. He placed his hand at her neck, and rubbed his thumb up and down her throat, pressing softly with his thumb to show he had control over her life. She looked up at him, and his mouth took hers, pulling at her lower lip, biting into her neck, as his hand cupped her breast. She whimpered softly, almost giving a cry of protest as he laid her back upon the couch. He ran his hand up her thigh, sliding his hand up her skirt, and cupping her bottom. She looked up into his eyes, and suddenly, she felt his hand move softer. He scooped her up in his arms, and he carried her to his bed, laying her across the ruffled sheets. "Gabriel?" "Hm?" He looked at her, stroking the hair from his face. "Why did you... I mean... cast me aside last night?" She looked up at him slowly, a little scared of the answer. He let his full weight fall against her, as he half-laid upon her. He sighed, and looked down into her eyes, "You... I... You are young." "I am eighteen. That is hardly young." She looked up at him, as if looking threw the bullshit. "You seemed too... well... I guess sweet to do what I usually do to women. Which is use them for sex and discard them, pick them up when I need a pick me up. At least, that is what another woman said about me." He sort of half-chuckled uncomfortably. "Who was she?" "Just some girl from a..." She cut him off, "No... the one who hurt you?" He raised an eyebrow at her, "What are you talking about?" "In every book I've read, when a man sleeps around, some woman hurt him, and that was like his revenge on the female sex." He looked down at her confusingly, and then sat up. He got up, heading back for his bottle of wine, and drawing out the cork and drinking straight from the bottle. The room was quiet for a bit, and he drank till the bottle was close to half-empty. He moved to his stereo, fumbling with CD's before putting in something that suited him. He hit the repeat button, and Moonlight Sonata played over the speakers. She got up, and moved over to his paintings, trying to change the subject. She looked at a painting of a beautiful red haired woman, lying naked across his couch, a rose between her bare thighs, and the bud covering her pussy. Her eyes were green, and she looked at the viewer with passion, as if she wanted to pounce them, yet society's standards would not allow her to do so. "She is beautiful. A model?" She asked, half-turning so I could see the painting and him. He shook his head, but did not go on. She moved to him, wrapping her arms around him from behind, kissing his shoulder softly. "I hated what you did yesterday." He moved to turn and face her, but she stopped him, "No, I cannot seem to speak when you are looking at me." She stroked his back with hand, her fingertips sliding up and down his spine slowly, "Yesterday, you were my first." He grew tense, and then he turned to face her, not stopping at her protesting hands. He took her hands, and turned them over slowly, drawing them up to his mouth, and kissing her palms slowly. He whispered softly, "I wish I would have known." "Surely you must have had some idea." She looked down at her hands in his. They seemed to fit perfectly. He nodded, but did not explain any further. He took her hand, drawing her over to the floor-to-ceiling window, and turned her to look out at the view. He stood behind her, and kissed her neck softly, "Best view in the city." He was right. The bridge was lit up with its pink, blue, and purple lights, the sun setting behind it. She smiled softly, and he reached to the buttons of her shirt, undoing them slowly, just enough to fall beneath her breasts. His hand slid into her bra, cupping the flesh of her breast. His mouth brushed softly against her neck, barely grazing the flesh, but causing her to shiver. He gave her breast a firm squeeze, waiting for a cry from her lips, before releasing. His hand slid down her stomach, undoing the rest of her shirt, sliding it back from her shoulders he undressed her before the world below. He unfastened her bra, and slid it from her body, tossing it aside with her shirt. His hands cupped her breasts, rolling her nipples between his fingers, as she moaned softly, closing her eyes to feel all of what he was giving her. He knelt down behind her, and unzipped the back of her skirt, slowly letting the material fall down to her ankles, as her plain black cotton bikini panties were revealed. She felt self-conscious that she would be wearing such childish underwear for him to see. He didn't make mention of it, but instead slid it down and left only her heeled shoes on. He held her lips, and forced him to face her, as he pressed her back against the window. As he knelt, he slid his hand up between her thighs, parting them, and as his hand made it up to the silky wet curls at her pussy, he stroked her slit slowly, teasingly, as she moaned. "Tell me what you want." He kissed her stomach softly, and looked up at her, as her eyes shot open. What should she say? Did he expect her to say something completely naughty? Why could he not just... she blushed furiously as she opened her lips, "I-I..." she stuttered, and blushed more, "I want y-you to touch me." She was thankful he settled for that, as his fingers pushed deeper against her slit, letting them sink into her clit as he stroked slowly in gentle circles. Her body trembled, as little patched of heat began to form over her flesh. She closed her eyes moaning, as his fingers slipped into her pussy, and cried out, arching her back as they curled against that other spot that drives all women crazy. His mouth moved to her pussy, flicking the light spray of curls there, before pressing into her clit, and flicking slowly. His speed slowly increased, as his fingers fucked her pussy, he added a third finger, pushing in and out, spreading his fingers, and curling them inside her. She could barely stand, her knees growing weak. His free hand rested under her ass, providing a little support. He drew his head back, "Oh, you're so wet... so delicious..." He stood, and kissed her. She tasted herself on his mouth, and as his tongue probed her mouth, she tasted herself further. He undressed before her, and then took her hand, wrapping it around his cock, "Stroke firmly, like this." He took her thumb and her forefinger, placing them in a circle around his cock, tightening it how he liked it, and told her to stroke. As she did, he grew harder; she liked having that power, to make him hard. His head tilted back slightly, and he groaned. He was rock hard after a moment, and a few moments later, he pulled her hand away, placing his hands on her hips, and turned her around, bending her over, and slapping her ass lightly, as he parted her legs. She felt him place the head of his cock at her pussy, and slowly slide just the head into her pussy. "Tell me how you want me to fuck you." She liked what he had done to her yesterday. "Fuck me hard." She felt him grab her hips, and he looked into her eyes threw the reflection on the glass. He smirked at her, and pulled her hard back against him, thrusting into the hilt. She cried out loudly, and he felt her tremble. He drew back and thrust into her again, just the same way. He slowly increased his speed, taking her harder, slamming into her tightness, and groaning as he did. She trembled, and he felt her growing tight around her, growing wet. He knew she was close, and then he pulled out. She moaned in protest, but he just picked her up, and carried her over to his bed. He laid her down, and knelt at her feet, drawing off her shoes one by one. "I want to make love to you as you cum." She looked up at him, with a slightly confused look, before nodding slowly. He wrapped his arms around her, and drew her into him, as he laid between her thighs. He kissed her passionately as he took her in one long stroke, moving slowly against her, as his mouth caressed her neck, and her breasts, taking each nipple in his mouth and sucking gently. He closed his eyes, holding her closely, rocking his hips in a grind against hers, her body trembling in his arms. She cried out softly against his neck, moving with him as she wrapped her arms and legs around him, holding him just as close. "I love you, Leila." She felt him go ridged, as she did as well. He waited for her to pull away and slap him. She wondered who Leila was. She did not want to pull away, and she did not want him to cast her aside again. She reached up stroking his hair, their eyes meeting. "I love you, Gabriel." She whispered softly, and then kissed him tenderly. For a minute, he did not know what to do. He looked up at the painting of Leila, and as he drew his hips back, he sank into Leila once again, suddenly, he was thrusting as she liked it, slow and hard, he took Mia's arms and pinned them over her head, as he thrust into her again. Mia cried out, arching her back against his motions, much as Leila had. He reached down and pulled one of her legs up around him, and pushed the other one back as she tried to bring it up. He caressed her neck softly, resting his head against Mia's shoulder, as he made love to Leila's picture that stared at him. He trembled, "I never want to let you go." Mia wrapped her arms around him, holding him close. She knew he was not talking to her, but she would hold him, and let him have her as Leila if it helped him. He was weak, with a strong front. And as he drew back and thrust into her over and over, she felt heat rise threw her body, as she trembled, and cried out, cumming, tightening around him. As she came, he trembled on top of her, his cum filling her body with heat, as he thrust threw their orgasms. He collapsed, his energy spent, and she held him, kissing his forehead. Her fingertips ran up and down his spine, as his body rested heavy against her own, his head upon her shoulder. Neither of them brought up Leila, but he did rise his head, and kiss her softly, "Thank you Mia." He looked into her eyes, and she knew what he meant. She nodded with a smile, "It's alright." She brushed his hair from his face, and she kissed him gently. They fell asleep like that, in each other's arms, and when she awoke a few hours later, the painting was turned away, facing the wall. Lesson in Modern Culture Ch. 03 Artists make good lovers, but not good loves. Their passion is excuse for infidelity, and if you love the artist enough, you are expected to accept it. Gabriel began showing signs of his infidelity after one too many models came into the picture. He would only ask me over a few times a week, the other days were reserved for his "work." She loved Gabriel, so she lived with the fact that he looked at naked women as he worked. All the great artists of the past did, and she knew it was her that he took to bed at night. One day, she decided to surprise him. She wanted to make him dinner, and have a romantic night with him. She knocked on the door, holding a few bags of groceries. She heard some stumbling over things, and then the door opened. She was tall, blonde, and wearing his shirt. He hair was ruffled, and she smelled of sex. Mia dropped the bags, and looked up at her. Gabriel came up behind her. He looked caught. "How long?" She looked up at him accusingly. "A few months." She nodded calmly, and turned walking for the stairs. He pushed passed the blonde, and ran after her. He caught her wrist and turned her around, pushing her against the wall. She knew the blonde knew what she did, and she left. Gabriel watched her silently as he pinned Mia against the wall. She didn't fight him, but fell into his arms crying. "Why?" She sobbed softly. He didn't answer. He didn't have an excuse. What was he going to say? That he was a man? He picked her up, carrying her back to his room, and kissed her. She pushed him away. He kissed her again. She slapped him across the face. He pulled her tightly against him, and kissed her forcefully, she struggled, pushing and kicking. "LET ME GO!" And he pushed her into the wall, and I fell from the force to the floor. He went down to apologize, to help her up, and she pushed him away, looking up at him in disgust. She stood on her own, and pushed him with the force he had pushed her with. "You are a foul disgusting piece of shit!" She slapped him across the face, and turned to go, but he grabbed her pulling her back, kissing her mouth deeply. She felt her body waver, the strength falling, his hand cupped her breast forcefully, and he pulled at her shirt, tearing it from her body. He pulled her bra down beneath her breasts and squeezed, licking and sucking. His mouth found her neck, and hungrily took her flesh in his mouth. She was weak, her mind telling her to push him away, but her body failing to do anything about it. Her heart wouldn't have it. He undid her pants, pulling them down. He cupped her mound, and stroked over her panties. "I hate you..." She whispered. "I know." He pushed her panties aside, stroking her to climax, and resting his head on her stomach as she came. He pulled her down to the floor, spreading her thighs, and undressing. He spread her thighs further and further, kissing her stomach, stroking himself hard, and placing the head of his cock at her opening. He teased her, barely pushing in, just letting her feel the tip before pulling out. He pushed in again just the tip, and pulled out, "Beg for it." He wanted to know he still owned her. She shook her head, and tried to pull away, but his hands held her firmly in place. He teased her, pushing in and out so minimally that she whimpered, trembling. He cupped her ass, lifting her, "Beg for it..." He leaned forward, whispering hotly into her ear. "Tell me how you need it..." She trembled, her body heating... She wanted him, her body was craving for him to thrust down deeply into her, to take her as he wanted. "Please give it to me... I need it in me... Please fuck me..." She closed her eyes, arching her back as he thrust so deeply into her it caused cry out, digging her nails into his back. He took her forcefully, drawing out and thrusting in harder. He was claiming her once again as his own. She would never leave him unless he chose to leave her. She couldn't stand how his body could do this to her. It disgusted her as he rolled her over on her stomach, pulling her ass up into the air, stroking himself with her wetness, and parting her cheeks, smacking them, and then placing the head of his cock at her hole, stroking up and down her crack slowly, wetting her up, before slowly pushing into her ass. He knew how much she hated this. How much she had to grip the sheets just to hold on enough for him to get his pleasure. She cried out, realizing there was nothing to grip. The floor was hard, and she felt it against her breasts. He stroked her clit, and pushed into her forcefully, not letting her reject him. When he had what he wanted, he pulled from her body. She felt his cum seeping from her ass, he kissed her back. She whimpered, half in pleasure, half in pain. She cursed him under her breath and he smiled, whispering back into her ear, "Yet you always come back." Tears welled in her eyes, and fell to the floor. He didn't care if he hurt her anymore. He was his own. "Take me again..." She whispered. "Here?" He smirked, sliding a finger in her ass. She shook her head, "No... here..." She reached back, taking his length and placing it at her pussy, sliding her hips backward and making him take her. She grinded back into him, rocking her hips to get what she needed. She moaned, and he held her hips, guiding her where he wanted it and pulling her back harder occasionally to remind her that he had control. She cried out, and climaxed, as he thrust into her faster and faster as she came. Her body fell back against his in bliss. Her ass and her pussy throbbed, both in pleasure, both in slight pain. He kissed her, and forced him to face her. "Remember you are mind." He squeezed her breast, and she nodded.