Originally Posted by
Switch Positive
We don’t need to do this anymore. I don’t need to feel the pain of events long dead and resting. I do not deserve this. I am setting you free. You are free from any guilt you might be experiencing from having been the one to open this wound of mine. You are free of any confusion that has resulted from your lack of understanding. We don’t have to keep seeing each other.
Andrew felt the earth falling away as her brief message sank in. What did she mean? She would not see him again? Their last session had not gone that badly. It was certainly not a good end. He had only done as she asked. It had been a cathartic moment when he brought her past the threshold of pain. Breaking position, she had curled up in a ball on the floor; screaming Enough! Enough! Enough!, exploding into tears.
It was not the first time her ass and thighs were reddened at his hand, impacted by the stiff spatula he found in her kitchen. Her tolerance for pain was far greater than his own. She had frightened him; yet he liked pushing her, hitting harder. Her willingness to expose herself and his enthusiasm to strike had launched her out of body, into mindless space. She loved it. Afterward, his arms strong around her; (should be a comma here) she purred, convulsing, spiraling in residual orgasm.
He was very concerned. Last time he took her somewhere dark. Catching her and falling on her to hold her soon (delete)as she jerked splenetically away from him, fast in a fetal ball, he had a sick feeling he was a second too slow. She stayed curled up and cried in his embrace with piteous shivering, not spasms of bliss. The beating had reminded her of her father. Memory was not simply revived, she was reliving the way he made her feel in a childlike pose.
Never mistreated by his parents, Andrew did not have a similar emotional connection to the beatings he received. Ana was far kinder in her punishing, only skirting the edges of his tolerance for pain, wincing with him when he flinched. She made him feel ruthless. It frightened him that she liked it so much; arching her back, asking for more, pushing her ass back out to meet the leather belt after each harsh stroke. It made his cock hard. It worried him that he enjoyed it so much.
Holding her as she cried, broken, he was washed over with guilt. He had reduced this strong, fearless woman into sobbing heap. He whispered that it was all right, held her until she was still. Hours later when he left she had seemed better.
The talk they had the next day left him doubting.
Needs just a bit of smoothing here, to imporve flow. Suggested rewrite: Their talk the next day left him doubting.
She reported to him, out of nowhere, she had broken into tears again at work the next day. Years of rational control she developed concerning her history (delete -- unnecessary)were a wall washed away in a flood of horrors relived. Demons unearthed rose sickly to the surface, riding a wave of utter despair.
Asking probing questions, he made her name the demons.
He wanted to have a word with her relatives, find out how they could have disowned her. If only he could show them how kind she is, how compassionate her tender heart...they had to love her.
His insistence that it might help to mend bridges with family long burned left her feeling flat.
He mistakenly beleaguered the topic, prodding her with questions about her dead father and estranged uncle. Was it so wrong to think that trying to get in touch with her family to find out why dad had mistreated her might help her to forgive him? He hated family dissent. His parents had not beaten him.
We don’t need to do this anymore.
Andrew had failed her. That was the gist of her message.
Her statement filled his mind. The pit of his stomach knotted.
He did not want to lose her.
Their last conversation nagged her. His words on the matter left her feeling alone. She couldn’t expect him to understand. He wouldn’t comprehend that she had already tried and her blood had not responded. Her head ached as she tried to tell him it was pointless for her to demand attention from her family. Their attentions were never healthy.
There was no way he could know what it was like. She did not want him to know, to cause him pain.
She considerately erected a new wall. Nice (try replacing this word with "A polite" icy barrier between them that called for no emotions, to keep him safe, to distance herself. She had always dealt with her demons alone. Her message had been sent.
He didn’t know how to respond.
Neither slept well.
Andrew woke to the sun streaming in, missing her.
Trudging through his day, no matter what he did, things did not go his way. The client had cold feet, the property had zoning issues and the sale stalled. Nothing could feel worse, no deal and no girl.
Perhaps he had not lost the girl.
Afraid she would see the number and refuse him, (delete -- unnecessary) his first relief came when she answered his call. An answer meant he had a chance. Her hello drew him out of hell, to purgatory.
“Ana, how’s your day?.”
“Andrew...I’m fine, you?.” She did not sound angry, The slight chill to her voice was her determination to remain cool. The icy wall held. She allowed herself to feel a tiny bit happy to hear his voice. She had never been angry at him. Andrew had never mistreated(need "her" right here); he made her state what she wanted. He was not the man who raised her. She shuddered at the memory of the last time, that moment when the pain became too familiar, the lightning crack of reaching her limit. Remembering the confused look on his face made her sad again.
She asked for what he did, it was not his fault she had a bad reaction. She had given him the opt out.
“I am holding together pretty good considering. Deal I was working on fell through today, last minute problems. I am just making my way home.”
“Fell through, or just postponed?” she had a way of posing questions that suggested solutions, never accepting the worst. ItReminded him why he liked her. Through the chill he sensed caring in her words. Not being able to relate to his financial problems, she never offered more than optimism and general advice. She only tried to understand.
“Yes, another week. I thought it was the end of my financial troubles.” he deliberately kept most of the despondency out of his voice, stating disappointment as a bland fact.
“You’re fine Andrew, it’ ll happen soon enough. Just keep going.” Always encouraging, Ana’s voice was pure faith. Basking in the warmth of her confidence in him, he was silent.
Her next question sucker punched his heart.
“Did you get my message?”
“Yes.” A simple reply, soft tone, speaking his sadness.
“You’re lucky Andrew, there is part of me you will never understand; either you approve of how I have dealt with it or you don’t. I don't want to talk about it. I don't want to cause you pain and confusion. I have had enough of that.”
Resisting the urge to point out that she brought it up, he knew she was right. He could push her physical limits, when she begged him. She never asked for advice about things long past. He did not understand. She usually seemed fine, always had a positive vibe.
Might be better just to listen, popped into his head.
Strategy crept up on him, a ray of light in the fog.
“I wanted to help; I don’t know how. You’re a smart girl Ana, do you have any ideas? Aside from not seeing me?”
She ignored his comment about not seeing him.
“You could marvel at how well I turned out, considering the circumstances. Tell me what is right about me instead of telling me what I should do about them,” her tone hardened as she demanded, “Ask me how I forgave my father.”
He could see her with more clarity. The wall was becoming transparent as she stood up for herself. He had assumed because her past still affected her, she had not been able to forgive.
“How did you forgive your father?” his soft voice, his obedience, warmed her.
The wall was weakening.
“What he did, things he said, the way he treated me...it makes no sense. I did nothing to trigger his animosity. I was a child. It was suggested to me years ago that he was sick from the way he was raised, or chemically imbalanced. He was never diagnosed, now he is dead. Sad thing to be that sick. Perhaps it was not his fault either. Andrew, I have done well enough for myself, I am all grown up and very responsible. I taught myself to be kind. I learned to survive.”
Admiring the strength in her voice, his spirits lifted.
“You’re very responsible,” he agreed. Throwing the statement back let her know he was listening.
“I can take care of myself. I don’t need you.”
The wall had a long, fine hairline crack in it.
“Ana, what about what you want? “
A bit more heat reached her through the fissure.
“Andrew, I don’t know what I want. Honestly. Do you know what you want?”
The gap in the wall widened. He desperately wanted to reach and draw her through.
“Ana, I want you.”
Face flushed, temples pounding, the ice around her heart thawed as heat returned to her blood. She wanted to believe him. She wanted him.
“Still?”
“Yes. I still want you.”
The crack in the wall widened. She didn’t want to need him.
She did, desperately, want to be wanted.
The wall was starting to crumble. She was scared.
“Show me, Andrew. No more talk. Show me.”
The phone went dead in his hand.
Andrew decided. He would show her.
Ana closed her phone, exhausted by the days of emotional turbulence. Moving trance like, she lit a coal in an iron pot and burned red powdered sandalwood to clean the air of tension. Not feeling bad, still determined not to feel overly happy about Andrew, she wanted off the roller coaster of thought. She sat in lotus and breathed deeply.
A few minutes later she rose, calmly she threw back the curtains, opened all of her windows to let in the fresh spring air, the last sun of the day. A cloud of sandalwood smoke billowed out of her little apartment , streaming away in the sunlight. (With her)Mind light and calm, she ran a hot bath and poured three cups of salt into the steamy water. She lit a candle and turned off the electric light. Scent of sweet butter cream filled the tiny room. She stripped.
Submerging herself, she relaxed completely into the warm water. Sounds of birds singing at her window pushed gently out of her ears, replaced with liquid warmth. She lay as flat as possible, knees bent, head floating, arms aside, body motionless, nose just above the water, eyes closed, inhaling and exhaling (change to "breathing) evenly and deeply.
Thoughts swirled in her head. Andrew had unearthed sad old memories. The failed relationships she had with men, the horrible things her father had screamed...she let the thoughts spiral together; reasoning with herself that she would be all right. She let her head fill with all of the negativity she could muster and when no new thoughts appeared, when the worst of the worst was reviewed and starting to repeat like a broken record, she imagined all of the nasty things that had happened coming out of head through her ears and swirling around her in the dirty bath.
Without moving anything but her foot, she pulled the drain with a toe, releasing the pain filled liquid and lay there, listening to the rush. Evil thoughts went down the pipes. Feeling the water receding, she let it all go. The tub drained. Knees slumped to one side, her head settled on the bottom and felt heavy on her neck.
As the floating sensation left, a new one began.
Water sank slowly around her, left her head beached on the bottom of the tub, heavy. The waterline reached her ears, it streamed straight down, out of small canals, pulling the last of the hurt from her mind and sending it to the sewer.
The new sensation was peace.
Savoring a feeling of emptiness, she lay still. Candy scent from the candle caressed her inhalation, sweeping in sweeter thoughts to fill her mind as she lay like a tired stone in the empty tub. She made up new stories for herself, love stories. She drifted off to sleep.
Anxious, Andrew arrived at Ana’s. A neighbor was coming out of the gate to the yard and let him pass. Not bothering with the bell, he found the back door unlocked and let himself in. Initially alarmed that he could get in so easily, once in, the soothing sandalwood enveloped him and calmed his mind. Inhaling deeply he entered, child in an empty cathedral, walking softly. Quietly, he went from kitchen to hallway.
He saw the flicker of the candle, the crack of the open door. Following the sweet smell, softly pushing the door open...
He stared as she lay motionless in the dry sand colored tub. Long wet hair splashed from her head, legs slumped together with bent knees; a mermaid, rejected by the ocean, sleeping where she had washed up.
She woke as he lifted her, naked and damp, from the cold, empty bath. He held her close like a child, nuzzling her with his cheek. Hazel green eyes fluttered open. She smiled, languidly encircling his neck with mermaid arms. He held her tightly and carried her to bed.
Laying her down gently, he leaned over her. Covering her with kisses, he brought her slowly to life. First face and neck, moving slowly down to her chest. He spent minutes in the hallowed hollow (these words are too similar to be used side by side, find another word for "hallowed". Perhaps sacred or sweet??of her collarbone. He kissed each shoulder, along the territory of her arms to her fingertips and back. He planted a hot firm kiss between her breasts. He lingered at her nipples, little sucking kisses that begged forgiveness.
Tiny twin buds stiffened in approval. She arched her back and pressed her chest to his mouth, groaning, she stroked his hair. Nursing harder, he sucked as if she could feed him. The more pressure he applied, the more she responded. She grabbed him by the shirt and rolled him off of her, holding tighly, his lips never left her nipple. Pressing into his face, hand on his shoulder, holding him still. Pulling away caused him to suck her harder stretching her small breast. She moaned as she pulled from his teeth. When her hard flesh tore from his mouth he moved her suddenly to the side, grabbed the other breast and latched on, still starving for her tight hard nipple.
His cock was engorged, throbbing against the prison of his pants. She pulled painfully away from his rough suckling. Pushing him down, she straddled him rubbing her naked cunt on his hard bulge, meat swelling more with her teasing. Eyes locked, he grabbed her ass, held her to him, forcing her legs farther apart. Slamming against her, he lifted her with his thrusts, still trapped in his trousers. He flipped her off of him, pinning her with one arm across her chest. He reached for his belt and zipper. Breath rushed with excitement, she loved being trapped beneath him. Like the slap slash of a shotgun pump, sound of his belt coming off made her gasp.
He rid himself of his pants, his cock aching for her flesh.
She fought against his weight, twisting out from under him. They grappled like wrestlers, she was strong and he could barely put her down again. A giggle escaped her as he won. Loving the fight, she loved losing most.
Pausing to consider this, realization dawned.
She loved to be forced, to fight and struggle. She had to be shown. He had to be willing to show her how much he wanted her. She fled her family and they let her go. She wanted to be pursued, caught, held down. Shown.
He held her to the bed with one hand and forearm, pinning one of her legs with one of his own, took the other with his arm in the crook of her knee, forced her legs apart. Gasping as he overpowered her, she clutched at him tightly.
Holding her with his weight, he switched arms holding her leg, reached down and touched her hot snatch. He watched her cunt, loving the way her whole body contracted as she shrieked. Fingertips teased at her wet lips. She struggled in the hold he had on her. He massaged her tender clit; she convulsed. Legs fighting to snap together, he held her open.
She clung to him hard as she resisted, loving his strong male force. he would not relent. He brought her closer to climax.
Whimpering the only words she could find “show me, Andrew, show me...”
He rolled on top of her pushing her legs to her chest and holding them there with one arm. Never breaking contact, he pinched her clit hard before he finally slammed his cock deep into her weeping cunt.
The neighbor’s pitt bull pricked up his ears as she screamed and came. The dog whined softly along with Andrew’s animal grunts when he buried his cock deep inside, deeper each time. Hot, pulsing, coming cunt grabbed, pulling at him as he recoiled for another plunge. He could not hold back.
He planted himself, down to the root of his cock and flooded her with his load.
Resting inside, his cock did not fully soften; she did not stop pulsing around him. She held him to her, all arms and legs and warm hole. His rhythm started again; pounding her pussy already full of his come. Rewrapping him in her long legs she held him tighter, he had no exit. Sweating and breathless, he plunged, splitting her mercilessly until he came again and collapsed on top of her, his cock twitching inside her.
Exhausted, they slept in a puddle, the beautiful mess they made, entwined in each other’s arms.
