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Mad About You: Part 2 (MF,rough,bond)
by Frost

They were both quiet afterwards, neither quite sure what had happened. Jamie
tried to puzzle out what had turned her on so high, so hot, so fast. She'd
never been one to experiment sexually. In fact, she was, she admitted, a
little repressed.

She had had a few boyfriends before Paul, but things hadn't really developed
very far. She'd done her first blow-job at eighteen, and done perhaps five or
six more of them over the next three years. She'd lost her virginity at
twenty. It hadn't been a terribly exciting time.

At twenty one, having had only four previous sexual experiences, two with one
boyfriend, two with another, she had met Paul. She had fallen in love with
him, and come, eventually, to enjoy sex, but more as an expression of
closeness, of love and tenderness, than because of any real physical
pleasure.

Oh it was pleasant at times, but tales about massive fireworks that she often
read or heard about, she had dismissed as mostly exaggeration. The most
pleasure she ever had was on those rare occasions when she masturbated. She
didn't do it much because she was either too busy to take the time, or felt
it was a kind of a betrayal to Paul.

So the massive pleasure she had experienced during the rough, raw, violent
sex was a tremendous puzzle. It made her uncomfortable, wondering if maybe
there was something inside her that was masochistic, that craved abuse.

He had spanked her, for God's sake! And she had gotten off on it more than
almost anything she could remember, without him doing more than slapping her
behind and fingering her crotch.

He had gotten off on it too, which also discomforted her. What if it turned
out he liked hurting women, liked hurting her? What kind of a man got off on
hurting his wife? Weren't they just subhuman wife beaters?

She had always felt very close to Paul, but now she wondered if she knew him
at all, and what was worse, if she knew herself any better.

As for Paul, he was wondering something along the same lines. He had felt an
almost frightening pleasure as he smacked his hand down on Jamie's ass. The
sound of her cries were like music to his ears, and he had had a tremendously
hard time restraining himself from doing worse.

The raw, violent sex was something new to him, something he hadn't dared with
girlfriends, and of course, had never considered with Jamie. It had been,
without question, the most fantastic sexual experience he could remember.
Never had Jamie seemed so utterly sexual and erotic.

Every time he'd slapped her ass, every rough movement he'd made, he had
anxiously expected her to protest, to demand he halt. But she hadn't. What
did that mean? She had sure seemed to like it. But maybe she'd been acting.
Maybe she was even now disgusted with him.

He wasn't sure, and didn't dare ask.

* * *

Their sex life over the next week was limited to the occasional kiss and pat
on the behind. Jamie was wary of both him and herself, and Paul was afraid to
push things, despite his growing frustration. Each time he tried to get close
to her in bed she found a reason to ease away, tiredness, headache, or just
plain not in the mood.

On a Thursday night, almost a week afterwards, he didn't wait for her to get
into the bed. She undressed and put on her nightshirt, then went to put on
some kind of greasy stuff, which made it obvious to him that there would,
again, be no sex tonight.

He rolled out of bed...he slept nude, as usual, and came up behind her,
gripping her wrist.

"Put that shit away, will you?" he said, irritated.

"You don't want me to look old and wrinkled when I'm forty, do you?"

"I don't care what you look like when you're forty," he growled. He took off
her glasses, ignoring her protests, then spun her around, and gripped the hem
of her nightshirt, jerking it up.

"Paul!" she cried in protest.

He jerked the nightshirt up and off, flinging it against the wall and
wrapping his arms around her, drawing her naked body up against his as he bit
down on her neck. His hands dove to her ass and he squeezed her tightly as he
ground his loins into her.

"Paul! Stop it! I...I have to be at work early to...tomorrow!" she gasped,
pushing him back.

He ignored her, lifting her up and carrying her to the bed. He got into the
bed, easing her down below him as he growled and gnawed and chewed on the
nape of her neck. His hands came out from under her ass, sliding through her
golden blonde hair and over her small breasts as he let his weight down on
her.

"Paul! I...I don't...I..."

He silenced her words with his mouth, crushing her lips. His tongue darted in
between them, caressing her teeth and lips as he rubbed himself against her.
His cock hardened rapidly as it was ground between their bodies, and he
reached down for it, placing the hard purple helmet against her opening.

Jamie decided to give in. It would only take a few minutes and then she could
put him off for another few days while she pondered her behaviour, and his,
last week. There was no real violence in what he was doing, though he was
certainly being more insistent than normal.

And more...more rough...more...aggressive. His hands were racing over her
body, mauling and kneading her breasts as his mouth pressed down demandingly.
He pinched and pulled at her nipples, making her yelp, then drove himself
slowly, but firmly down into her tight pussy.

It was not a brutal thrust, yet it was also not the slow, in out, gradual
penetration she was used to. She felt his organ sliding firmly, determinedly
into her in one single deep drive, and groaned a bit in surprise, and at the
strain and sudden bloating of her surprised body.

He tore his lips free of hers, then engulfed her nipple and a chunk of breast
meat, biting, chewing, sucking fiercely. She gasped, but he was gone, his
lips on her throat, then on her mouth again, then on her other breast, then
her shoulder, darting here and there, biting and sucking and licking and
slurping excitedly.

His hands kneaded and squeezed her breasts nearly continuously, crushing and
rolling the soft, tender, orbs as he ground himself into her. His body rolled
from side to side, and ground back and forth over her, even though he wasn't
pumping, even though his cock was buried to the hilt inside her.

She felt it moving inside her, the pressure shifting from side to side in her
belly, twisting around as he moved. She felt his weight on her thighs and
belly and ran her hands across his shoulders and ribs as she felt herself
heating up.

She spread her legs slightly, instinctively, then wondered why she had. She
drew her knees up and apart, trying to kiss him back, but finding his head
still moving rapidly, his mouth still shifting from throat to mouth to
breasts.

She gripped his head and pulled his lips onto hers, and they kissed long, and
hard, and deep and with growing passion on her part. He started to hump down
against her, and she felt his cock thumping into the back wall of her pussy
as it moved. She gasped in pleasure, spreading her knees wider, even though
the tendons in her thighs were already aching from the strain.

She felt her heart pounding faster, felt the blood racing inside her as their
tongues duelled, first in his mouth, then in hers. She ran her hands down his
body and onto his ass, and dug her fingers into the flesh as he ground and
humped into her.

He pulled himself free then, pushing himself up on his arms, taking his
weight off her. He began to hump into her with a hard, steady, driving
rhythm. His cock pumped inside her, thrusting in again and again as she lay
below him. His hips struck her thighs in a hard, steady tattoo as his cock
plunged again and again into the depths of her tight, moist belly.

Then he shoved himself back, his hands gripped her legs behind the knees and
he let his weight come down on them as he shoved them back against her chest.
Jamie gasped as she stared up at him, as her knees were crushed back into her
breasts and her ass raised upwards off the bed.

He began to fuck harder and faster, using long, deep strokes as he pounded
his cock down into her.

Never before had they used this position, for she had considered it far too
demeaning. She had the words of protest on her lips, but never got them
through. She felt her body thrum with sexual energy as his thick organ drove
into it, and felt every hard thump of his hips against her buttocks driving
the pleasure onward.

This is demeaning, her mind cried. How can you let him use you like this? How
can you be such a slut? She was embarrassed a little at how utterly exposed
she was to him, at how her ass was raised and her crotch gaped.

But too much of her mind was reeling from the pleasure as his cock pounded
down into her. She heard herself grunting softly with each hard thrust, and
knew, without thinking, without any conscious though, that she loved the hard
pounding against her ass, that she felt a blast of pleasure each time his
hips hammered her ass cheeks and drove them down.

She felt wanton, felt like a raw, carnal animal as he rutted down into her.
She was always careful, so very careful of her dignity at work, of the
clothes she wore an the way she moved, she could only imagine what her
co-workers would think if they saw her like this.

And the thought of that, rather than crushing her, made her body burn like
fire. She gasped and mewled in response as he shifted his weight on her legs,
his hands travelling down them, down to her calfs, then ankles. He threw his
weight on them, unbending her long legs and straightening them back along her
torso.

She felt a blast of amazement as he put his legs on her ankles, shoving them
up over her shoulders. Her back ached, and the tendons in her thighs were hot
and sore, but she didn't care about that. It was the position she was in, the
sight of her crotch only inches from her chin, of her ass cheeks raised high,
and his cock thrusting down into her that took all her attention.

She stared in utter fascination at the sight of his cock driving into her
again and again, and then looked up at him and saw the fire in his eyes and,
and gasped again. She knew how excited he was, and knew she was the cause of
it, and that added to the roaring inferno that was raging through her own
body.

And then he managed to shove her feet back further, and she could feel them,
could feel her bare feet as he pressed them back against her ears, and she
felt like the sluttiest, hottest whore in the worlds as he pounded his cock
down into her, and her ass bounced wildly up and down under the blows.

And she came, came like with a colossal, blinding firestorm of sexual
pleasure. Her senses were flooded with ecstasy, and her mind bobbed and
twisted and turned over and over as the raging tide passed through and over
it.

She shuddered and trembled, mindlessly gurgling and moaning as fire rippled
up and down her spine. The pleasure was a huge, towering thing that
swamped her senses and shook her body to the core of her being. She felt
light-headed, felt her chest tighten, her vision blurring.

Then the come eased, and she felt a glorious, languorous sexual bliss
gripping her. She moaned and let her eyes close, her body hot, her muscles
weary, her heart still pounding.

And yet Paul was not finished. He still held her ankles pressed back against
the sides of her head, and his cock continued to thrust down into her as his
hips bounced her ass up and down.

She was aware of this, and accepted it in a warm, soft, happiness, basking in
the afterglow of her orgasm.

Yet still he plunged his tool down into her, and she felt the stabbing
pinpricks of heat breaking through her all-encompassing bliss. She whined
unhappily as the delightful comfort of her body was forced away, and she
was brought back fully into the muscular aches and pains, the discomfort
of her position, and the bruising impact of his hips against her soft,
upturned buttocks.

Could she complain? Could she tell him to hurry and finish? No. She couldn't.
How could she? Surely he wouldn't be much longer.

Yet he continued to drive his tool down into her, fucking, if anything,
harder.

Then, much to her surprise she felt a tingling in her crotch, down deep in
her lower belly, down where his cockhead was punching repeatedly into her
cervix. It grew and spread, sliding up her pussy to the mouth, setting her
clitty tingling, then seeping through her belly and up to her chest.

She felt her breasts ache with wonderful pleasure under the repeated grinding
of her legs, and felt her heart begin to race again. She was shocked,
stunned, for to her this was impossible. An orgasm was, after all, often
known as a climax for the very good reason that it was the peak, and the end
of things.

Yet her body was rapidly being swept back into the sexual whirlwind she had
just emerged from. That had never happened before, nor did she think it was
possible.

She lay there in stunned amazement, her aching body throbbing with sexual
heat as Paul drove his cock into her depths with near savage fury, thrusting
down with all his weight, his hips cracking loudly into her ass cheeks. It
was crude, violent, raw....fucking.

Fucking. She was being fucked. Now she understood the true meaning of the
word. Making love certainly was no description for this. This was not having
sex, or screwing. This was fucking. She was being fucked...hard!

She heard herself say the word, whispering it.

"fuck," she breathed.

"Fuck...fuck...fuck...fuck..." she whispered, chanting it almost as a mantra,
not even knowing she spoke aloud, each word a gasp of pleasure timed to his
brutal thrusts.

"Fuck...fuck...fuck...fuck...fuck..." she gasped. "Ooohh
FuuuuuuuUUUUCCCCKKKKK! OOOhoH! OUUNNNGHH! UUUUOOOOOHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAGGHHH!"

A second orgasm swept over her, ripping her thinking to shreds. Heat flared
up along her nervous system, blasting along her body like raw, molten lava
ripped from cracks in the earth. She screamed...for the first time in her
life she screamed in pleasure, helpless, massive, shocking pleasure that
swept her out of the world and into its own embrace.

Nothing existed, nothing mattered, nothing but the pleasure. Caught in a
howling, roaring hurricane of ecstasy she bounced and jerked like a spastic
doll, blinded, deafened, she neither knew nor cared what was going on, what
was happening to her. She turned and twisted and rolled in a vast pool of
boiling water, her body steaming as it consumed her. Yet the water was inside
as well as out. She held her mouth wide, felt the bubbling, churning ecstasy
in her lungs and belly and groin, and threw senses wide to it.

She woke to Paul slapping her face lightly. He had some water and his hand
was wet. She blinked her eyes, slowly trying to bring her sight into focus.

"Pa....Paaulll," she whispered.

"Thank God! Are you all right?"

"I...I...oohhhhhh."

"You passed out."

"I...I did?"

"Fainted," he said, his worry disappearing now, slowly being replaced by a
certain arrogant pride.

"Oh my Gooooood," she moaned, bringing her hand up to her face.

"I was...uhm, kind of worried."

"I..." She turned her head, then raised herself up on her elbows. Paul helped
her sit up, and put another pillow behind her.

"Jesus," she sighed, shaking her head. "Oh man!"

"I uh, guess you liked it, huh?" he said with a grin.

"I never felt anything like that in my life!" she breathed, staring at him in
wonder.

"Well..." He shrugged nonchalant, feeling even more proud and cocksure.

Paul was not the kind of guy who'd ever bragged much about his sexual
conquests, and he certainly spoke seldom, if ever about his sex life with
Jamie. But the very notion of her coming so hard she fainted made his head
swell, and he longed desperately to call up his friends and tell them how
he'd fucked her unconscious.

There was a certain age-old male delight in possessing a woman's body, a
delight he'd seldom felt. Jamie was, after all, hardly his plaything, his
possession. She was as smart, as strong-willed, and as successful as he
was. She decided when they'd have sex, and mostly how, and she shared in
all other decisions.

On the other hand, he had just fucked her unconscious! Though he didn't
think it consciously, the realization was there that if he could fuck her
unconscious he was, undisputable, the one in charge. he was THE MAN. THE
BOSS.

"Christ, what did you do to me?" she groaned. "My back aches. Ohhhh, my
thighs."

She gripped her inner thighs and massaged the strained tendons and muscles.
She felt bruised there, too.

"I uh, I guess you made me so excited I got carried away," he said glibly.

"Fuck," she sighed. "I bet I have bruises tomorrow."

She was so stunned at what had happened that she was trying to shift the
discussion away from it, away from her fainting from pleasure, and on to his
inconsiderate and rough sex.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"Forget it," she said, unable to look at him. "Let's get some sleep."

"You uh, you liked it, huh?" he grinned.

"Paul...yes. I...liked it. Can we get some sleep. I'm absolutely exhausted."

He wasn't annoyed. He knew very well what she was doing, why she was shifting
the discussion and blaming him. There was alwaysa very subtle struggle for
power within a marriage like theirs, and he had just won a mighty battle.

He kissed her, then grinned and turned away, turning off the light. He
decided, though, to get a shot in before sleep.

"Don't forget to tell your girlfriends about that," he said in the darkness.

Shit, she sighed to herself.

What just happened, she asked herself. What was that? More importantly, how
can I get more of it?

No, no, no! How can I regain control of my body. That's the question. How can
I experience pleasure without giving up my pride and dignity. Jesus! I let
him pin my fucking feet back behind my ears!

Do I really care? It is Paul, after all. I don't have anything to hide from
him. I love him and he loves me. If rougher, harder sex feels so damned good
why should I care about my bloody dignity?

It was a long time before she fell asleep.

The next day there was work, and lots of it, and little time to wonder at
what had happened, or care about her motivations. She was able to get home
not much after seven thirty, and tried, with only a little success, to put
it out of her mind as she and Paul ate dinner.

After dinner, both of them in their sweats, they sat on the couch and watched
TV, and talked a little, about work, about friends. Not...NOT...about sex.

Around eight he kind of pulled her over towards him, so they were hip to hip,
and kissed her affectionately. She tensed up worriedly, her mind churning.
Then he lifted her legs up and over his lap as his arm went around her.

"It's kind of early, isn't it?" she gulped, smiling hesitantly.

"Is it?"

"It's..." she shook her hand out and looked at her watch. "just past eight."

"We have to wait until bedtime?"

"Well..not...it's just that..."

His lips slid onto hers and they kissed softly, then harder. His tongue slid
into her mouth, and his right hand moved between her legs, rubbing up and
down over her pussy.

She wanted to push him away, to shove him hard and run into the bathroom and
lock the door. But she didn't. The memory of the pleasure, the luscious,
exquisite pleasure, was addicting, and she wanted it more than she feared for
her dignity and pride.

A minute later he shifted her ass into his lap, then put his arms under her
and stood up, lifting her in the air.

"Pauuulll!" she gasped.

"Hey, you got no say in anything, woman," he growled.

"Woman?" she stared.

"I'm the man. What I say goes."

"Oh, really?"

He carried her into the bedroom and threw her on the bed, then gripped her
sweatpants and pulled them down her legs, flinging them off the end of the
bed. She stared up at him in confusion, wondering what, if anything, she
should do to reassert her authority over their sex life.

He knelt there between her legs, growling.

He lifted the top of her sweats up, pulling her into a sitting position, then
yanking them off and shoving her back down on her back naked.

She laughed, as if in amusement, though her heart raced anxiously.

His hands closed on her wrists and he pulled them up above her head,
spreading them apart and putting his weight on them. She felt a sudden
throbbing need in her loins, along with a desperation to say something,
to remind him that she was his equal, that she was a strong-willed,
independent...mature...

Then her body decided for her. This was something new and out of the
ordinary, and if it resulted in the kind of pleasure she'd felt last night,
and last week, then the hell with equality. Their sex life had gotten boring,
and she wasn't about to protest if some kind of macho Tarzan act would liven
things up to this extent.

He straddled her body, his knees pressing against the sides of her ribs, then
let go of her left wrist and leaned forward, to the right. She felt something
against her wrist and turned her head up. She saw, to her considerable shock
that he was tying one of his old ties around her wrist.

"Paul!" she gasped in surprise.

He ignored her, and her next words were drowned by a flood of heat that
seemed to make her body tremble with lust. He was going to tie her up, tie
her to the bedposts. That was so kinky! So hot and sexy and...and carnal...
and...

She felt her heart beating faster. She stared upwards at him, feeling the tie
tighten around her wrist, then saw and felt the length of fabric tugging on
her wrist as he slid it around the post and pulled tightly. He tied it off
there, then leaned over to the left.

Again he produced a tie, wrapping it around her wrist. She closed her eyes
and shuddered, her mind spinning with wonder at what he was doing, and at her
reaction to it. How could she allow this? How could she not?

She felt the pull on her wrist as he cinched the thing tighter, then he
backed off, easing his weight back. He slid his ass back onto her belly and
let some of his weight come down on her. She pulled repeatedly at the ties,
excited by the lack of give, by the tightness of the fabric against her skin.

His hands moved up and down her upper body, rubbing and squeezing her
breasts, pinching and pulling on her nipples, then sliding his hands up
alongside her head. He ran his hands roughly through her hair, then
gripped it and jerked her head back a little roughly.

She gasped in pain as he leaned in and bit on her exposed throat.

"Oh!" she gasped. "M...Paul!"

He jerked her head forward again, crushing his lips down on hers, stabbing
his tongue into her mouth as he growled. He backed off, getting off her, then
stood next to the bed. She saw the bulge in his pants and the heat in his
eyes, and knew he was as excited by this as she was.

He stripped off his top and pants, then, his cock sticking up hard and erect,
moved to the foot of the bed. He leaned over and grabbed her right foot, then
jerked it towards the lower corner post of the bed.

Jamie felt her heat rising higher still as she saw another tie in his hands.

"Oh, Jesus Christ!" she gasped, letting her head fall back.

Her chest rose and fell as the excitement rippled through her. They'd never
done anything like this before, never been...kinky...if that was the word.
Last night must have affected him, as well as her. Maybe he had felt more
pleasure as well. Maybe he had decided that this was the way she needed it,
wanted it, that she wanted him in complete control, wanted to be...fucked.

He was tying her spreadeagled to the bed! The very words, the very image of
herself in her mind made her pussy drool with lust and desire.

    

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