*This post contains references to rough sex. If you find this offensive, please do not read further.

We were pressed against each other. Her back to my front. My nipples hard against her feverishly hot skin. I held her as she lay against me in my arms, my legs spreading hers open to allow me access to her wetness. Arching in the pleasure I was giving her. I was angry. I needed her with an intensity that I believed was the only emotion that would satiate the indescribable feeling of irritation and lust I felt for the woman I was fucking. My mouth ruthlessly sucked her neck and shoulder, speaking my words clearly. A furious and inquisitive tongue sought out the saltiness of her skin, letting her know my say . My hands wandered all over her body, slick with sweat palming her hardened nipples and cupping her breasts, their insistent pressure drawing from my possessiveness.  My fingers occasionally swirling in her heat only to stop as she urged herself onto them. To be impaled. I wouldn’t let her. I wanted her to remember this. I wanted her crying my name in such explosive pleasure that it made me come when she did. In her lustful haze to understand that I wanted her and she wanted me and it went beyond the physical. But if our bodies were the only way we could communicate – so be it

Angry sex. Not my preference. I enjoy making love slowly and surely. Worshipping a woman’s body. Indulging in foreplay with the mind. Gratifying all of the tactile senses to one’s content achieved through a soulful release.  But here I was – Pissed as hell. And as might be expected, so was she. This woman – by god, how she infuriated me. We had been arguing over wants. Yes, what she wanted and what I wanted and apparently, they didn’t match up. Either that or one of us was speaking pig latin. A simple disagreement escalated into a yelling match. What is it with women and their lack of civility when being told off? I heard what she said, I heard it loud and clear. Somehow a demonstration of rationality and a refusal to engage in hostility is a bad idea when arguing with a hot tempered siren. It just ticks them off more. I was starting to simmer, as much as I thought we could sort this out like adults, a part of me wanted to bellow out loudly about the unfairness of all the accusations being hurled at me. But I didn’t. I grew angry and that is something that doesn’t happen often, if ever. I grew angry because while she stood there in her gauzy white pants and lusciously soft black sweater contemptuously screaming my lack of a million different emotions to the heavens, I still wanted her. My eyes caught the drape of cashmere over the curve of her small breasts and how they moved slightly while she was lambasting me. Her hips almost aggressively sensual with the occasional delicate hand that made its way to rest upon them.

I moved closer to her. My jaw clenched, lips pouted – a tell sign. I stared at her with an intensity that would scare had they not been burning with want. She looked right back at me furiously but the frown between her brows gave away her uncertainty and…curiosity? What was I doing? I eventually entered her personal space. Towering over her. I placed my hand behind her head, my fingers grasping for purchase in her waves and curls. She opened her mouth .. I didn’t want to hear anything more. “Shut up…” I growled and roughly covered her mouth with mine. My lips sucking and nipping hers with ardor. She opened her mouth to gasp and I took advantage of her movement to slant my mouth over hers widely, plunging my tongue into her mouth. To taste her. Shut her up. Render her incapable of feeling anything but the texture of my tongue dueling with hers in her hot wet sassy and spiteful mouth. After a split second of surprise …She gave as good as she got.

I groaned in satisfaction. We kissed hot and hard. Stopping only to suck and bite any inch of skin we could find. My hands wandered over her back, reaching down to grasp her linen encased cheeks. I bent slightly so I could ground my hips into her, wanting us to feel the pressure of my body against her want. “Fuck” … Almost as if on cue, the permanently playing internet radio at my place started blaring a bizarrely trippy song. It did nothing to quell our hormones or emotions, instead spurring us on more recklessly. Like the kitschy rhythm of the track was the soundtrack of our fucking. The mojo flowing through me allowed me to miraculously execute a move I’d only ever seen in the movies. I lifted her while she wrapped herself around me. “Do you want me ?” I asked huskily. She nibbled and bit my ear, “Yes…Fuck me”.

I took her to my bed and threw her onto it. By no means gently. I quickly removed my clothes and crawled up over her, unbelievably turned on and impatiently pulling at her sweater. We kissed feverishly. Each trying to regain the upper hand on the others body. But I was taller and hence had the physical advantage which I was in no mood to relinquish. She was mine. And I was going to have her. I sat upright against the headboard and dragged her against me, refusing to let her turn around. And so began the sensual onslaught of my hands and mouth on her, hers rendered useless but to guide my angry and pleasuring touch. Every time she tried to close her thighs to sate her insistent need for my hand there, I spread them again… continuing to swirl, to tease. She moaned loudly. Her sassy mouth spouting two charming words in alternating regularity. “Fuck” …Uh huh. I was doing that alright.  “Baby”…. I won’t lie. I enjoyed the helplessness masked by the demanding nature of her sexy ‘I’m-being-fucked’ voice saying this particular endearment. Yeah.

When I finally allowed my fingers bring her to orgasm, She arched and shuddered and screamed my name. My name. Me. I allowed my fingers to rest in her warmth, enjoy the slickness of her juices as she recovered. As she breathed in deeply, slack in my arms as I held her hushing into her ear –My own needs kicked into overdrive. My god, I wanted to be touched. Almost as if she sensed this, with a surprising amount of energy she pulled away from me and turned around – yanking my face to kiss me hard. When we came apart for air, I looked into her eyes and knew I was in trouble. A whole lot of trouble. She shoved me onto my back roughly.

“God…”, I breathed…or not. Because let me say this – sex hath no fury like getting it from a woman thoroughly fucked.

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Queer Coolie is the pink and cheery avatar of a single Indian lesbian recently repatriated from the US. She also dabbles at being the following - Editor @gaysifamily | Dimsum Lover | Kettlebell Swinger | Startup Standup | Bathroom Beyoncé
Queer Coolie

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