“I have a few sex bloggers in my google reader. Tess is one of them. Her writing is so vivid and she touches on the darkest of topics with a lustful grace that I love. Those of you with conservative minds or literate children around should click away.”
The trill of my cell phone wakes me out of a deep sleep. I grab it hoping that it hasn’t woken Dar. It’s Maggie. She’s having contractions and is on her way to the hospital. She sounds elated and terrified. She asks if I can leave now and meet her and Stephen there.
From the start of her pregnancy she decreed that I needed to be there in the delivery room with her and be part of the birth of my goddaughter. Me – a completely atheistic Catholic, but she wouldn’t listen to reason. It’s symbolic on her part; Maggie herself only goes to church on Christmas but somehow the idea that her baby must have godparents has taken root and is firmly entrenched. Who am I to argue? I’d do anything for her.
I hang up and lean over Dar. I know he’s awake, if the ring of the cell hadn’t woken him the excitement in my voice surely must have. I kiss his forehead, wait for his eyes to open and smile.
“It’s Maggie, she’s having the baby now. I need to leave.”
“Take my car, Tess,” he says, “let me call the garage and have them bring it up.”
The perils of living in New York City, we both have cars and they, of course, need to be garaged. Mine is at my place on the other side of town. Dar is rather attached to his car, a Jag, which he has never even let me drive. Not that I had any particular interest in doing so, when I am with Dar his being in control is automatically assumed. That includes driving, though we take cabs or the subway most everywhere.
“Thank you, love,” I whisper, kissing him and having to fight my urge to impale myself on his already rigid cock. He see my hesitancy, looks down at his engorged cock and tells me to get going, that he’ll make sure I have enough when I get back. I laugh, kiss him again and race to the shower.
The drive to Long Island is quick; I drive much faster than I should on the deserted roadways. It is way before dawn and the mad commute is still hours away. I am just so damn excited. My friend is having a baby, a perfect little child to hug and kiss and shower with love and maybe even some wisdom. I can’t erase the huge smile I’ve had on my face since my phone woke me.
I find Maggie and Stephen. She is nearly fully dilated by the time I get there and all that’s left for me to do is hold her hand, stroke her hair, hold ice chips to her dry lips and whisper assurances in her ear. Stephen puts all his Lamaze training to work and in just a few hours my beautiful goddaughter is born. I watch as the doctor places her on Maggie’s chest and I cry along with Maggie at the sight. I have never seen anything as beautiful and perfect. Stephen leans in to kiss Maggie, he touches his child with disbelief, as if he needs to prove to himself that yes, I really have produced this perfect little human being. I whisper to Maggie that I’ll go for a bit and give them some privacy and in typical Maggie fashion, she threatens my life if I dare go.
The nurse takes the baby, cleans her up and returns her to Maggie’s breast, helping her get the baby to latch on for the first time. Maggie shrieks than laughs.
“Oh my god, Tess, I felt that in my damn TOES.”
I smile and kiss her. When the baby is finished nursing, she hands her to me. I look at Stephen to make sure he isn’t feeling slighted and he just nods at me and flashes me his proud dad smile.
I nearly melt when she’s in my arms. Looking at her sweet, crinkly little face, feeling her tiny, helpless body, watching her miniature chest move as she breathes, I can’t help but cry. They are tears of happiness, of celebration at the miracle it is to be able to create this, to create life. I hold her just fascinated at each little gurgle, each tiny movement of her toes and fingers. I place a finger in her tiny palm and feel her wrap her fingers tightly around it, holding on for dear life. It stirs something deep inside me and makes me realize how much I want this as well. With Dar. His child. Our child.
Reluctantly I give my goddaughter back to Stephen. I feel as if I could hold her in my arms forever. Maggie smiles at us both, deservedly proud.
“We discussed this before, Tess. We are going to call her Teresa. Don’t argue with me, that’s her name and that’s it.”
To say I am touched is to nowhere near how I feel. My goddaughter, named for me, what more of a tribute can you bestow upon a friend? I bend to kiss Maggie, hold her close, look at baby Teresa snug in the arms of her father and I suddenly know exactly what I want. I want the family Maggie has, I want a measure of security, I want a child of my own, mine and Dar’s, I want it all. And I know that this desire birthed from my friend’s bliss might well cost me everything I do have.
I return to the city the next afternoon, go to my place, shower and change. I wear things that Dar loves; fabrics that are soft to the touch, a dress so soft and silky it simply floats over my form light as a wisp of smoke. It looks utterly simple and elegant but underneath I am the whore. Silk corset laced as tightly as I can achieve on my own, reducing my waist enough so that his hands can wrap around me, matching thong, sheer thigh highs and shoes with killer heels.
I get to the house, ring the bell and he lets me in, already comfy in his blue cotton pajama pants. His chest is bare and all I can think of is the feeling I get when I am crushed against him. He notes the look on my face; he sees everything, a quality I have often expressed my ambivalence about, and as soon as the door is shut he has me up against the wall in the foyer. He says nothing as his hands roughly force my dress up and out of the way, panties are shoved to the side and his fingers are shoved inside me so forcefully that I am lifted off my feet as he slams them into me again and again. My moans are silenced as his mouth covers mine, swallowing my protests, feeding my hunger for him. He unzips my dress, pushes it off my shoulders and lets it slip to the floor, when I move to step out of it he says one word, no. He pushes my panties down so that they’re around my ankles, I know he wants me constrained and I want to give him what he wants. The glow of the sunset filters in through the narrow windows that border the door casting a warm pink light on his chest. He roughly shoves me around to face the wall, his hand pressing hard against the side of my face as he whispers in my ear, “Tell me you want it, bitch. Tell me how you came here prepared to have my cock buried inside your wet cunt. Tell me how wet the thought of me raping you, filling all your orifices, makes you. Tell me.”
I fight him then briefly. It’s as if I wish it weren’t all true though I know it is. It isn’t disingenuous; my fight is more with myself than with him. He presses the fat head of his cock to my puffy pussy lips letting it push and prod me, but not letting it enter me.
“I can wait, Tess. You know I can. Can you say the same?”
I moan in response and still the words elude me. He pushes harder against my face, his hand slipping to my throat, holding me still while his other hand gropes my breasts painfully enough so that I know bruises will form. I find myself dissolving into the pain. His hard fingers pressing firmly into the sides of my tender breasts and then they move up to torment my nipple, twisting, pulling, making my breath come in short hard puffs.
Again he prods my pussy with his cock. It feels even bigger and harder than before, ready to split me open, to render me completely helpless so that the words he wants to hear can no longer be denied him.
“Yes, Dar, yes, love, I want you. You know I do. Always. Make me your bitch again and again. Fuck me anyway you like, any place you like. I just need you inside me. God, please fuck me, please do it now, don’t make me wait.”
He doesn’t. He’s heard what he wanted to hear and he pushes inside with a prolonged grunt. My cunt, so resistant when it mimics my state of ambivalence, now pulls him in. He has the ability to make me molten. I no longer feel solid, made of something other than flesh and bone.
All the while he pounds his cock mercilessly inside me, his fingers pinch here and there, my clit gets as roughly treated as my nipples. It’s so hard to stand, my hands are splayed against the wall for balance, his left hand, the one not abusing me, is above mine. I watch his fingers clench until I can’t keep my eyes open and close them to lose myself in the sensations that come so hard and fast, making them nearly indistinguishable from each other.
He hasn’t stopped talking the entire time; his breath moist against my ear. “My good little bitch. Take it. Open for me. You can’t help yourself. You’re mine, Tess, I own you. A possession. Admit it, whore. Admit I own you.” He continues to use his mouth to torment me; harsh words and than his lips softy nipping my ears, changing to words and than teeth buried in my neck, words and his tongue licking the length of my spine as he spreads my ass, tongue darting into the tight dark bud of my ass and than his fingers pulling even more so that I feel overcome with shame at being so lewdly displayed.
Though I’d say anything at this moment, it’s entirely true. He owns me. We both know it. It’s no use denying him anything.
He pulls me to the floor. Pulls off the panties that had my legs restrained and tosses them aside. He rests on his elbows, looking into my face. And smiles, his smile is like a ray of sun, it illuminates his face, he glows, and than without warning he slaps me, and the smile never leaves his face.
“No, Dar,” I plead, “no, please not tonight.”
He ignores me and slaps me again and again until the tears begin to fall. His cock head drifts to my ass and I whimper. He pushes in, that first push always the worst, the feeling of being violated, the sharp pain so intense I see stars and bite hard into his shoulder, hard enough to hear him groan and to know he’s wincing. His fingers play with my cunt; dipping inside and than spreading the honey all over. My clit throbs wanting his attention but he is so intent, that I reach down and rub it myself. He whispers that I am such a whore before removing my hand and replacing it with his own.
I feel the wave of orgasm hit me, my body pulls up, all muscles tensing, my ass milks his cock, my teeth sharp in his shoulder, nails clawing at his back. My eyes open wide to drink in his pleasure and his pain. His cock releases hot white come, I feel it pulsate, feel each individual stream fill me. I cling tightly to him, exhausted from my orgasm, from my day, from his unexpected brutality and the insane pleasure it brings me. I lay there with him propped above me, crane my neck to kiss him and as always I lose myself in his kiss.
He rises, extends a hand to mine and leads me to the den. He walks to his desk, opens a drawer, pulls tissues out of the box and hands me some. I collapse on the sofa and he comes around and sits beside me, pulling me into his lap. I lay my head back against his strong shoulders, shoulders that carry too many burdens, and steel myself for what I am about to say.
I don’t turn to look at him as the words fly out of my mouth, “I want us to have a baby, Dar.” His body stiffens. He lifts me off him, so that I am beside him and he can see my face.
“Tess, that isn’t going to happen.”
“Why? How can you say that so simply, so decisively, Daray?”
“Do you see the life we live, Tess? This is no environment in which to raise a child. Do you think I’ll change, that I’ll get softer with you? If you do, you deceive yourself and I will have no part of that.”
“Think about, Dar. That’s all I ask, don’t dismiss it out of hand. I love you. You love me, we’d have a child that was loved and wanted, what else does a child need?”
“A child deserves a father who doesn’t possess my sadist nature, Tess.”
“You’d never hurt a child, Dar, we both know that.”
“Would I ever consciously hurt a child, Tess, of course not. But you’ve seen the times that the darkness takes over. I will not risk putting a child in harms way. I simply will not do it. Do you imagine I’d be able to forgive myself should anything like that occur?”
“Why must you always prejudge everything? Why must it always be your way? If I am to remain with you I must consign myself to a life without children, is that my choice? You are either utterly brilliant at knowing yourself and who you are, Dar, or you are a completely arrogant ass. You run our personal life like you run your business. What about love, what about emotion?”
“Am I not successful, Tess? Do you care to argue that point?”
“So you measure success in your work with the same yardstick you measure personal relationships? Do you not care to be happy, to be truly happy? Must this notion, this acceptance of your sadism limit you so much that you can see no other possibilities?”
“I do know myself, Tess. I know that no matter how long a period of calm I have it will always be followed by a storm. I know it is this logic and reason, which you seem to find so unsuitable for personal relations, that keeps the darkness at bay. It is force of will, a force of will that yes, combined with logic, has made me successful. You think I choose this, you think if there were a choice I’d choose this, this that has made my life so damn difficult?”
“You don’t give yourself the chance to find out, Dar. You simply say this is who I am, this is what I am and each time you say it you reinforce the idea. It’s as much a self-fulfilling prophecy as I have ever seen. If you’d only open your mind and your heart to other possibilities….”
“You suggest I take such a chance with a child, Tess. What happens when our child sees what Maggie saw? Do you think you can so easily explain that away? I will not have a part in this. I will not. If you feel that you can not live without children than yes, Tess, you have a choice to make.”
The tears that I have contained until now start to flow, burning briny trails stream down my cheeks. He holds out his hand to me, pulls me closer, his finger wiping away my tears, lingering over my trembling lower lip.
“I don’t do this to hurt you, Tess. I do this to spare you, to spare us what would certainly be a disaster.”
“I don’t believe it would be the disaster you predict, Dar. I believe you’d love and cherish a child as much as I would. I believe you’d be a wonderful father. I have faith in you even if you don’t have faith in yourself.”
“And I love you for that, Tess. But I will not change my mind.”
He winds his fingers through my hair, and I groan as he pulls my head back and nuzzles into my neck. The warmth his lips impart is almost enough to chase away the chill I feel at this discussion. I can’t believe that I thought it might go differently; my love for him sometimes does blind me to his cruelty and bullheadedness.
His hand is still enmeshed in my long hair when he suddenly pushes me back onto the sofa. He looms above me, dark eyes on fire, heat floods through me, my nipples ache for his mouth, my clit yearns for his touch, my pussy floods with wetness as his hand falls between my legs and parts my thighs. His other hand grips my wrists and holds them tightly over my head. He releases his hold but warns me not to move my arms, not an inch. I struggle to obey him as his lips savor my body, from my neck to my toes and back again. I arch up so strongly into him, that my I feel the strain in my ribcage.
As he buries his face between my moist, dewy thighs, before I surrender myself to him as I always do, I whisper his name and he looks up at me with eyes darkened by his nearly insatiable lust, I make one last request.
“Tomorrow come with me to see Maggie. Hold the baby, that’s all I ask. For me, do this for me.”
“Of course, Tess,” he whispers, “but don’t expect me to change my mind.”
I meet his gaze with my mine, the desire I feel to have his face back between my thighs, to surrender my body, myself to him takes my breath away. I nod and he nuzzles my sex with his nose, breathing in my scent, dipping his tongue into my cunt, nipping at my labia, as I push my hips up to meet him. The last thought I have before I allow myself to abandon all thought, is of how he’ll look with tiny Teresa snuggled against his large chest. I don’t suppress the smile that plays over my lips and I don’t suppress the hope that no matter what he thinks now, he will change his mind.
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