Sometimes when Richard and I meet he beats me to the apartment other times I get there first. From the very start he has set certain expectations for my behavior. When I get to the apartment he expects me to be showered and ready for him. Ready for him can mean a number of things. It can be resting quietly…napping until he gently wakes me. It can also mean kneeling in the middle of the bed on my hands and knees with my back arched slightly. This position is more of a default position, it is what I do when he does not specify something else.
Lately it seems as if he gets there before I do. I find him waiting for me. I love that moment..walking in and finding him there. I become fully cognizant of what I am to him and I feel flooded by what we have. I feel an amazed sort of excitement knowing that for the next several hours it is just the two of us- no distractions.
The apartment was empty when I walked in. I tossed my backpack down on the chair and wondered when he would join me. His last text message just said that he was running a little behind. He told me to rest up and he’d be there as soon as he could. I wasn’t sleepy at all so I just curled up there and read some poetry. I undressed down to my panties and pulled on one of his dress shirts he had left behind. It smelled like him and I snuggled down into the softness of it and like a good submissive I waited.
I didn’t wait too long and soon he was walking through the door. He tossed his jacket over the back of the chair and began to undress. I sat up and looked at him and he noticed what I was wearing. He told me if given the choice he would keep me in his dress shirts..naked beneath. He smiled, kissed me and then said he was going to take a quick shower.
“Be a good girl and I’ll be right back.” he said kissing me again. I realized how happy I was as he walked away. Secure in what we share and not doubting the realness of it or what it means. A few minutes later I heard him come out of the bathroom and he walked over to the bed dropping his towel on the way to me. He pulled the covers off of me and I turned to look up at him waiting to see what he wanted or needed from me. I rolled over on my back and felt my hands go up and rest slightly over my head in that natural submissive state that comes over me when I face him. He pulled me up and kissed me hard on the mouth. I struggled slightly not expecting that. I was waiting for his words and instead he kissed me. I realized I struggled and made my hands fall from his chest. He pushed me back down and I misunderstood his action. I thought he was upset that I showed resistance.
“I am sorry Sir…I won’t fight you, I am not sure what I was thinking.”
He laid down beside me and rested his body half across mine. His hands roamed my body.
“What?” I whispered.
“Fight me pixie, fight me. I want you to.”
“No..no, I can’t fight you, I don’t want to. It doesn’t feel right.” In my mind fighting him was unnatural. It went against all he had taught me, all I knew was expected of me. I wanted him to do to me whatever he wanted to do to me. I didn’t like to struggle.
He smacked my face..hard once and then again.
“Obey me. I said fight me.”
“I can’t Richard…I don’t want to fight you.” I felt confused and out of my element unsure of what he was asking, unsure of what he wanted. He smacked me again and I started to cry. Not because he was hurting me but because I was not able to do what he asked. He pinned my arms over my head with one had and smacked my face once more. I felt hot and a little angry that he was doing it this way. I wasn’t supposed to fight him. I was his submissive. I was there to please him. Not fight him.
In my irritation and confusion I felt myself struggle. I strained against the tight grasp he had on my wrists and I told him to stop. I told him to get off of me. Only he didn’t. He kissed my neck and my breasts and bit at my skin leaving hot red marks across my shoulders. I pushed against him and tried to turn away.
“That’s my good girl, fight me.” So I did. I fought him I turned back and forth and side to side escaping his biting mouth and his angry hands. I tried to get away and he seemed delighted that I couldn’t. I felt his hand again on my face…a sharp stinging slap. One that wasn’t intended to hurt or leave anything other than a soon to fade hand-print but it felt demeaning and harsh. I was soaked between my legs. I wanted him this way. I liked that he was forcing me to take him this way. I felt as if he wanted to force the submission that I so willingly gave. I realized it was his right to ask me to fight…to struggle. What was the difference…had he not asked me to beg him. My struggle pleased him. I struggled. I begged. I was his to do with as he wished. Fight you…yes Sir. Please you….yes Sir.
“Please, please…let me up. Stop, stop, don’t hurt me.” I was lost in the idea that I couldn’t escape him. For a few minutes I wasn’t his submissive. Who was I? Some girl he stumbled upon..lost and alone that he could take and hurt? So many scenarios crossed my mind. I realized I was living a fantasy. It was safe. I was being forced to submit to him and it felt different than what I had always offered him willingly. It was raw and erotic and he was lost in the power exchange of what we share.
It was odd. I struggled. I did my best to keep him from taking me but knew I wanted it. All I wanted was for him to go back to the expectation that I would obey him instantly. He forced my legs apart and pressed into me….thrusting hard and deep over and over. I wanted to melt into him to wrap my arms and legs around him and be taken. I felt his hand around my throat and he squeezed me hard and my hands came up to capture his wrists.
“Fight me.” He urged. I did. I fought for my breath and he continued to thrust inside me as he controlled my air. He allowed me small little gasps of air and I was grateful for them. I felt a heat deep within and I knew I was close to a hard orgasm.
“Please…”I whispered and he knew what I was asking him. I realized the same time he did that there was no struggle left in me. I came hard against him…the evidence of my fight dripping across us both.
When it was through we were both exhausted. I learned a lesson. I learned once again that my submission must be given to him in different forms. It is whatever he needs. He can make me fight him…he can make me beg him. He can turn me into his slut..his little girl..his bad girl. But always, always his submissive. And as his submissive I will do my best to meet his needs.