by Lily Harlem
This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the authors’ imagination. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved.
Hard
© Lily Harlem & Natalie Dae 2013
Cover Art by Emmy Ellis (Posh Gosh) © 2012
www.lilyharlem.com
www.emmyellis.com
HARD
Lily Harlem & Natalie Dae
Hard
Her
How do I tell you? Should I just come out with it? Slip it into a conversation about what we’re having for dinner or something we could do at the weekend?
I really don’t know, but one thing I’m sure of is you’ll be shocked. I’m a little bit shocked at myself to be honest.
But what can I do about it?
If it’s what I want, it’s what I want.
I keep visualising it, all day, every day, like a movie playing in my mind. Your hands in my hair—not you slipping your fingers through the long strands in your normal loving way, but rough and tight, scooping it up into a ponytail and yanking it, hard, so that my neck jerks back and I have to look up at your face.
Your strong, determined face, narrowed eyes, lips moist where you’ve just licked them. I can tell you’re thinking about all you’re going to do to me.
That’s just the start of it. I want that mixed with the heat of your hot, excited breaths blasting onto my cheek, your chest rising and falling wildly against mine, and your cock, your cock hard and demanding and you not willing to take no for an answer.
Because we could play that game, we are allowed.
Aren’t we?
Yes, and then I see you ripping at my top, not caring if buttons fly across the room or the material shreds. That’s not your concern. All you want to do is get to my tits, grope them, squeeze, make me moan for more.
The rest of the world would cease to exist. It would just be us, in that room, seeking a desperate, frantic satisfaction. But you would be in control, you’re the man, the instigator, the dominant half of us.
Your kisses would be wild, excited, you’d maybe nip me, too, with your teeth, and grip me hard, forgetting your own strength. Pull me this way and that, tip me over a chair, ass in the air, maybe press me to my knees, groin level, or throw me onto the bed so that the breath gushes from my lungs.
I’d adore all of those fast, impatient sensations, knowing that I’d pushed you to the very edge of your control, past it even. It would turn me on so much.
Would you like it too? If I gave you permission to let your inner beast out and have you stop behaving like a gentleman, an adoring, sweet, tender husband who cherishes his wife?
I think you would. What man wouldn’t?
It would be so horny, wouldn’t it? To let our passion take flight unrestrained. You could do it anytime, you know. Just grab me and fuck me. It doesn’t have to be at night beneath the duvet, in the dark. Whenever the urge suits you it would suit me too. I am yours. I want you to own me, take what you need to satisfy those most basic desires of yours.
Yes, take what you need. Please don’t hold back. I won’t break.
Him
Jesus, where did that come from? How long have you been feeling like this? Thinking about this? And you didn’t tell me? Why not? You know you can tell me anything. This just proves it. You’ve thought about it, mulled it over a bit, then said what you want. Was it difficult to do? Did you think I wouldn’t want to fuck you like that? That maybe I’d think you were dirty or cheap, not the woman I married?
I’m going to admit something, and damn, I didn’t realise how difficult it would be. I’ve got to admire you there—on being open, I mean.
Okay. Here we go.
I can’t deny I haven’t thought about it myself. But…you know me too well. You’re my delicate little flower. How the hell could I take you roughly—as roughly as that—and not feel guilty afterwards?
What was that you said?
Yeah, there is that—if you want it, if I want it, then it’s okay. But is it? I mean, really? You wouldn’t mind me just grabbing you, bending you over the table, yanking down your panties and fucking you there and then? Don’t you have to be in the right frame of mind for it? I know I’d have to be. There’s a mood for everything, isn’t there. I couldn’t just…just flick a switch and turn myself into that beast you mentioned.
Do I feel like a beast now? Yeah, in two ways. One, I feel bad for even entertaining a fuck like that—even though you’ve said you want it that way—and two, this conversation has me all riled up. When you described it, I saw it, you know? Saw everything you mentioned, and fuck, I’d be a liar if I said it didn’t turn me on. You see that? See how hard I am?
What? You want me to act on it? Now?
Christ. She means it. Damn fire in her eyes, the same as when she’s really going for it. In a frenzy, wanting it hard and fast.
Just…just give me a second here.
So let’s get this straight. You wouldn’t mind if I came home from work one day and, while you’re standing there looking at me, I toss my briefcase down, walk up to you and whip your blouse open? What if it’s your favourite blouse? What if I rip it? You know how you are about your clothes… And what if the day I come home wanting it raw and edgy, you don’t? I’m worried our moods won’t match and it’ll all go to shit.
Emails?Texts? Yeah, that could work. Starting in the morning, working ourselves up until I arrive. We’d know what the other was up for then, wouldn’t we. No chance of getting it wrong.
And why now? Why tell me now? Are we getting boring, is that it? Do you think we need to spice things up or what? Or have you always wanted it like that and have kept it from me all these years? Tell me. Tell me where it all came from.
Otherwise, a man might start to worry.
Her
Maybe I was scared that you’d think I was a slut, but that fear has paled into the distance now. The want, the need is too strong. I’ve had to swallow the embarrassment pill and just come out with it. Where the images, the overwhelming desire has come from, I’m not sure. But the compulsion is there now, to stay, like another actual living, breathing presence inside me. Perhaps it’s been there all along and has only just shown itself; maybe it has just arrived, I really can’t say for sure.
But I’m glad you know now. We never have secrets from each other, and no, I don’t think our sex life is boring, not at all, this is just something I want, and well, if I don’t do it with you, I’ll never do it at all, because there is only you. Will only ever be you.
You’re hard, aren’t you? I can see your cock bulging against your jeans, the delicious, thick outline of your shaft straining forward. And your cheeks, they’re a little flushed, and you’re fiddling too, winding that tea towel around your fingers like it’s in a spin drier.
But no, we don’t have to do it now. Not if you aren’t ready. Maybe you need to get to know your beast before he comes out to play. I want to meet him, really I do, and see what he has to offer. How long he can stay hidden now he has made himself known?
Next week? That long? No…
I’ll put on an old blouse if you text me something racy that lets me know I’m going to be at your mercy when you step through the door. Hell, I’ll go without panties just to prove how much I want it, that I truly am yours. Tell me what I must do, in that text. Call me a bad girl, a slave, a whore, whatever comes to mind. And no, you mustn’t feel guilty, this is all about pleasure, giving in to what we want and removing all the frosting and glitter, getting right down to the bare bones of our lust for each other.
You’re still spinning that cloth, what is it?
I’m sure you’ll be able to last long enough. You always do, and wit
h me so riled up, ready for action, I’ll be clawing the walls before you even get home.
You’ll know that I’m turned on because I’ll be so wet for you. Juice seeping down my leg if I do go without panties. I think you’d like that. It would prove how much I want this and need to be taken—no romance, no endearments, just fucked with an unharnessed intensity that makes it hard to think let alone breathe.
I can’t believe I’m saying all this in the broad light of day, but it has to be said, even if it’s hard to articulate. Even if it’s turning my stomach upside down and making my clit throb just at the thought that this might actually happen now.
Him
I’m thinking to myself that if I’m hard then I must be ready, but to be honest I feel a bit nervous. I mean, we haven’t done anything planned like this before, have we. If we’ve been rough in the past it was by accident not design. It sort of feels as though I’ll have to perform, get it right, when inside I’m feeling that I’ll get it wrong. Not the beast thing and fucking you—no, not that—but the hard bit. The raw bit. I’m not making myself very clear, am I. You’re frowning.
What I mean is…fuck, this is more difficult than I thought. Talking about it, saying things we’ve never said before, and even though we know each other inside out, I can’t look at you. It isn’t because of what you said you wanted, more that I can’t…shit, I’m embarrassed and I shouldn’t be. Not with you. But that’s how it is, and I’m mad at myself for it. I want to say so much but…
Yeah, you could be right. Talking about this kind of thing has never been “us” has it. Well, maybe it ought to be. What do you reckon? It’s clear there are things we’ve never done, things we both want to do.
I’ll try again, try to explain myself.
Hard.It’s the savagery I can’t handle. No, that’s not it. I can handle it, and maybe that’s what my problem is. I know I’ll enjoy it and handle it all too well, and that’s the rub. I’m struggling to think of you as a slut or whatever, because you’re not.
What? It’d be role play? Ah, I see. Kind of makes it different then if we’re just assuming roles for an hour or so.
Yeah, an hour’s too long. We wouldn’t last five minutes. The kind of fuck we’re discussing is a five minute job. It could go on for longer, I s’pose, but the first time I can imagine I’d be too far gone to hold back. Sensory overload and all that.
So that’s the point, is it? Quick, fast and hard, you say?
I can do that. But you want it now and I don’t think…
Texts now? What, you upstairs and me down here? Yeah, I see where you’re going with that. Won’t be uncomfortable then, will it, and we’ll feel freer to say what we want when we can’t see one another. And when it gets too much…yeah, I can see myself running up to the bedroom to be with you.
You know what? I reckon it’ll work.
Go on, go upstairs. Put an old blouse on like you said. And you start so I know exactly where you’re coming from, exactly what you want. I know you’ve already said, but if you repeat it in texts it’ll get me sorted, if you know what I mean. I want to do this, want it to work. For you.
I’d do anything for you.
Her
I’m going to fuck you, hard. That’s what your first text says. Great, that’s just how I want it. Hard, fast, primitive. But whilst that’s a good start, it’s not quite enough detail to really get us going, is it.
What else will you do? I need to know. Images are bombarding me. Lewd, hot, sweaty images of us, naked, panting, rutting like wild animals. Sweating and grunting, pain and pleasure a toxic, blissful twist. I see the old blouse I’m wearing torn in two, buttons hammering onto the dresser like hailstones, the shredded cotton beyond repair.
Anything else I feel like doing. That was a lightening quick response. But it’s good. It sends a shiver up my spine. You’re taking control. Stating what you say goes. I’m yours to do with as you please and what I want and need doesn’t matter in our nasty game.
When?
Now.
Fuck already? So much for describing more of what I want. Do you just know? Are we so in tune that we just need to start humming and then we’ll sing?
You’re at the door. I’ve never seen that expression before. Odd, when I thought I’d seen every way your face could present. I’m not complaining. I like it a lot. More than a lot. It’s sexy as hell and pretty damn dangerous too. What have I released in you?
You want me to what? Stand still. Okay. Did I look like I was about to back up? I wasn’t, I was just enraptured by you. By the new, edgy, dominant you and thoughts of the way you must have charged up the stairs, probably two at a time. Just a couple of texts and that was it. Your need for me was unleashed. That knowledge makes my stomach turn cartwheels and my pussy juice soak my knickers. Fuck, I am so turned on right now. Maybe more so than ever before and it’s kind of frozen me to the spot.
You think my blouse is slutty and it has to come off? Yes, it is. It should. That’s it. Pull it, rip it. Don’t you dare apologise for the raining buttons. I couldn’t give a shit. Ah, yes, my nipples are hard for you and no, sluts don’t wear bras. And I am your slut. Take me.
I didn’t notice you backing me against the wall, just the cold, hardness of it on my now bare shoulders. You’re blocking out all the light with your body, hemming me in, filling my senses. The determination on your face is all I can see and still, that new indomitable expression. I think you’re having to work it at, but not with too much concentration, not yet.
You’re going to give it to me hard and fast. Yes, please, however you want. Bend me, lift me, hold me, fuck me.
Pull my hair with one hand. Ah, yeah, tug, yank, that’s it. Grope me too, tweak my nipples until I gasp. You want to know what’s making me gasp? Hair or tits? It’s both, and combined with your rapid breaths steaming over my cheek, your thigh grinding into my pussy, I’m dizzy with sensation. Getting high on lust.
Don’t stop now. Please, see this through and let your beast do his worst to me. I can take it. I can take it all.
Him
I can smell you. Smell your cunt. I can tell it’s wet and you’re more than ready for me. Oh yeah, I feel you are, soaking my thigh through your knickers like that. Jesus, is that all it takes to make you wetter than you’ve ever been? Me pulling your hair until your cheek’s almost touching your shoulder? If I’d known that before… Damn, there’s still so much you haven’t told me, I’ll bet. Still things you want me to do.
That’s it, hump my leg. Get yourself off that way while I tug and pull and yank—hair and tits, tits and hair—and kiss you so hard it’s like I’m trying to transfer every bit of me inside you. We’re one, we are—right now we’re one, wanting the same thing, reaching for the same thing.
I can’t get over how I feel. I’m comfortable with this, and it’s shocked me a bit as to how comfortable. Yeah, it helps to hear you moaning, to have you pressing your cunt down on my leg and sliding up and down. Increase the pressure; that’s it, go faster, get heat going on your clit. Get that build up you described to me once, where your clit’s throbbing and that wave of want takes over, when nothing else matters except pleasure. And you clutching at my neck that way, your nails digging into my skin—fuck, that’s hot. Christ, woman, you’re so fucking hot.
So yeah, I’m all right with this.
Your nipples, so hard between my fingers and thumbs, and you’re writhing, pressing yourself into me while I push you back. I want you flat to the wall, unable to move away, me pinning you there so you have no choice but to take what I give. And here we go—you’ve broken the kiss, your mouth on my neck, teeth scraping, your little sign that things are well on their way—that you’re well on your way. Do it, rub yourself on my leg, get yourself wetter, closer to coming, then…
What? You’re surprised I stepped away? Look at you, displayed on the wall like a perfect canvas, your knees buckling and your mouth damp, lips plump with that I’ve-been-brutally-kissed effect. Your hair’s mu
ssed on one side from being in my fist, and I flex my fingers because it still feels like that hair is in my hand. But I’ve abandoned you. Left you wanting. Left you staring at me as though you want to scream, to make me come back and do what we just did all over again.
You wanted me to be dominant, to do what I wanted. You said you needed it rough, that you wanted buttons popping, hair pulling and maybe, if you’re honest, you want a little slap. Do you?
Yes?
I understand, I see. But there’s something that has been unlocked inside me now. You’ve set me off down a road where the chain of events might surprise you.
Because now you’ll see exactly what I want.
Her
How dare you. Get back here. I was just getting into my rhythm, a really fucking hot, carnal rhythm too. I need it, I need you. Take me, damn it. Let’s go there. To our own depraved Heaven and back.
You’ve narrowed your eyes, I can barely make out their blue depths. And your mouth and jawline, even though my focus is a little out, my hitching breaths jolting me against the wall, I can see that once again you’re wearing a new expression.
What is it? Lust, desperation, dominance?
You’re shaking your head, tugging on your bottom lip with your teeth as if holding in words you’re not sure I can handle.
I can.
Can’t I?
A full body tremble is snaking its way up my spine. Lust is tugging at my clit and pinching my nipples. God, the way you’re staring at me. You’re hungry and predatory, a solid mass of male determination. I couldn’t escape if I wanted to.
My scalp is throbbing deliciously, the air wonderfully cool on my bare chest, reminding me that you’ve torn my clothing. That I’m yours to do with as you want. I’m at your mercy—perfect, that’s what I’ve been dreaming of for so long. Needed until it tugged my guts and ruled my fantasies.
But what is it? This new, dangerous glint in your eye. Tell me! No, don’t tell me, just come here, now.
Your top is off. It makes a snapping sound as it hits the wall. Your jeans and boxers fall to the floor, kicked away in a knotted bundle. The heat around me increases as you step close again. That’s right, come here. But you seem so in control and poised. You’re muscles taut but still, coiled for action, brimming with unused power.