Crimson Crossing – Stories in Erotica

Disagreement

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Our disagreement days before created a palpable tension between us. He wasn’t happy that I had defied him. I regretted my actions, but refused to show it, let alone, apologize. I stood on swampy ground but didn’t care. He had been in my shoes in the past when I assured him that he hadn’t to worry. I came to expect the same from him, understanding of me during ill advise behavior; however, we were of different make up. He held grudges while I left uncomfortable situations behind.

That evening we had the third part from a series of documentaries about Latin Music during the first half of the century to attend. In attendance there would be collectors, historians, dancers, enthusiasts and us. I was his woman, and he was a poet looking for inspiration for his next series of poems centering around inner city Latino Community.

I tried to make small talk before departing, but it didn’t really lead anywhere. He barely answered, and when he finally did it wasn’t a thing related to the topic. He replied about being infuriated by my disrespect, that he would ensure it to be the last time I disregarded his will. I became testy, stood up for myself even if it were through a mere stare of disgust. He stared in returned, looking me up and down as if sizing a foe. He took a half turn, still staring at me, murmured some incoherent sentences and walked out the door. In his hand he carried a leather dopp kit. It was peculiar that he would bring it. He never brought it to any other event we’ve attended together. I imagined he had plans to send me back home after the event to enjoy a night on his own.

The car ride was quiet. Any attempts I made to lighten the mood were futile. He didn’t directly ignore me, but his answers were dismissive. I was left with little choice; I pulled the “Mad girlfriend” by leaning to my right as close as possible to the window, and stared out to the passing grass along the roadway.

This is my antic, it has always worked before when he’s been annoyed with me. I felt clever because he began to make small talk. I contained my excitement trying not to reveal my hoax. So, I continued to stare out the window, sometimes nodding, other times shaking my head. Not much time transpired when I noticed our vehicle reducing speed. There wasn’t a reason, other cars weren’t slowing down, it was only us.

I finally looked towards him; he was smiling; handsome smile he owns. I asked if the vehicle was experiencing mechanical problems.
He: No, I’m purposely slowing down, awaiting an apology.
Me: Don’t make me laugh, I haven’t a reason to apologize. Maybe you should return to being rude. I’ll look out the window for the duration of the trip.

The vehicle eased to a complete stop – the sound of the car tires over the gravel was distinct, almost soothing. We pulled over under an over pass, cars zooming on the highway by us in obvious hurry. He removed the key from the ignition, placed them on the dashboard, unbuckled his seatbelt, took a deep breadth and shifted his body to face me. Again he asked if I had reconsidered my stance on the apology. I hadn’t, nor would I, I said to him.

He leaned towards me, looked forwards towards the speeding cars, and faced me again, bit his lower lip, then in a low tone proceeded to tell me what he was about to do if I didn’t acknowledge my wrong doings. I didn’t know whether I should laugh, be shocked, or take him up on the offer. See, this was coming from a man who had been one way, a monotone one, since the very day we met. His intentions were a bluff at best, a dreadful one as well. He couldn’t, nor would behave such.

He came close to me, slide his left hand around my cheek behind my neck and grabbed a chunk of hair. He didn’t pull, he simply grabbed it. Gave me a look into the eyes, and I was overtaken by chills. I was beginning to think he was serious. I even considered apologizing, but the thought of daring him excited me. He asked again if I had anything to say. I didn’t even blink, I stayed looking at him thinking back to childhood memories of double dares.

He spoke sternly, I didn’t listen, I took no action. He leaned across my body, heading towards my lap, there he stopped, reached over with his left hand and moved my seat as far back as it allowed. He maneuvered to my seat, and believe me when I tell you this man is changed, he tore my blouse along with bra, buttons flew across the car hitting windows, windshield, and dashboard. He wrestled my slacks off my lower body, leaving my high heels on. He had undressed me in the bucket seat of that car. He couldn’t possibly go through with this. Though I was excited, I also wasn’t at ease, I had never seen him this way, nor had we ever acted out such a picture as he had just whispered into my ear.

He grabbed the dopp kit, and again asked if I would apologize. Again I replied as before, I stood in silence more attentive to the leather bag than I was to his words. I wanted to see if he had actually the stuff he claimed to have brought. He understood my silence as defiance once again. He opened the bag, asked me to reach in and pull the contents out. When I complied, my hands held handcuffs, and two tubes of some type of adult glide cream. My excitement at this point was both noticeable in my breathing as it was down below the navel. He asked me to unzip his slacks, I obliged. If my excitement was noticeable, it was his that was a sight worth admiring. I had really never before felt such solid state.

I was to proceed by opening the first tube, pouring a good amount on my hands, enough to engulf all of him, leaving no area untouched. I massaged it onto him, running my hands from the tip, slowly down the shaft, all the way to the base. I felt as if he had penetrated me, yet my hands were the ones doing the work. He stopped me from enjoying the moment more than he asked for. The second tube I opened, but didn’t use. I handed it back to him as requested. He swung the door open, exited the vehicle, and pulled me out. I could see his manhood glimmer when the lights of passing cars hit it.

The rush of air flying after speeding cars, coupled to the sound of high speed put me in heightened state of awareness. I was feeling exhilarated, ignoring the coolness of the autumn evening because my mind was unable to accept that he was going to culminate this event. Lights, high speed, bliss covered this mile of the highway. Even the smell of gas, and the honking of trucks pleased me. He walked me over to the rear of the vehicle. I walked ahead of him, my body in display to the oncoming traffic. Cars honked, flashed the high beams, even slowed down screaming obscenities. I didn’t blame them, I would have as well screamed a few selected indecencies had I seen a recently shaved delight with perky chest staring back at head-beams.

He turned me around, my palms flat against the trunk of the vehicle, face looking straight ahead, rear raised up with my legs tightly held together. I somehow managed to hear the noise expelled by the tube as he poured it right between, letting it drip from up high saturating all of my round and about. He massaged it for a while, between honks from vehicles he continuously asked if I was ready to apologize. I never answered him, never cared to, I wasn’t only saturated by the lotion spread throughout my backside, but by the attention my body was about to receive.

He massaged me, enticing my libido to accept his soothing. He pulled my hands behind my back, my torso quickly gave to gravity coming to a stop atop the trunk, he then pulled the handcuffs from his pocket and cuffed me. There I stood, bent over a car on the side of a highway with vehicles flashings lights, honking, squealing wheels from sudden stops. I didn’t care where I was, all that ran through my mind were the words he’d just spoken to me. Each and every one of them, I wondered how it would feel, how despicable he’d be to me, whether I would like it, hate it… Amidst all the thinking I felt his hardened state pierce me. My reaction was to raise my torso up and away from the trunk. This was the genesis of accepting pleasure where it would be impossible to bear children. Whether it was painful, or pleasurable wasn’t clear. The thrust of his pelvis colliding into my buttocks without thought of mercy caused me to scream, moan, and curse. He incessantly asked if I had changed my mind. I screamed out each and every time that I had not, I didn’t want it to end. The awareness of passing passengers seeing me vulnerable to him increased my desire to be subdued.

I could feel each collision throughout my body, breast bouncing, mouth speaking of pain, or was it glory, his fellows slapping against my womanhood as if punishing me to make me beg for mercy. He still spoke of lessons, of payment, of a woman resentful of her ill advise actions. I gave in, but not before my legs were spread far apart and an audience of vehicles around us, including lights of red, while, and blue accompanied by a siren. That was not part of his plan.

Author: jibarican

https://crimsoncrossing.wordpress.com

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