Mature. Viewer Discretion is advised.
*The people inside of this work are FACE-CLAIMS. This has no correlation to any IRL individual.*
*This is messy plot. Made when I was a teen. Beware.*
The story of a young woman who finds her style, self worth...
"All this feels strange and untrue, and I won't waste a minute without you. My bones ache, my skin feels cold, and I'm getting so tired and so old..." ♫ Open your eyes by Snow Patrol.
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Harlow had declared war on my fucking vagina.
Cold blooded, everlasting, painfully beautiful war. He planted his sparkly red flag where he wanted, loaded up his tanks and weapons (AKA, his unrelenting dick), and was slowly killing me with his dirty mouth, bratty attitude, and endless hunger, more and more, day by day.
It all started after we got back from the rage room.
As it turned out, he really, really, really wasn't lying about anger turning him on. Talk about feral.
We didn't even make it into the house before he was yanking me onto his lap and grinding me down onto his dick, spilling our fruity celebration drinks all over the seats of my car. He came in his pants and so did I, my next door neighbor catching us with a glare of disgust while he watered his petunias.
Poor Mr. Hal just wanted to do his gardening.
I couldn't look him in the eye ever again, that was for damn sure.
The next day, Harlow just switched into this mood.
His submissive side started to come out more and more, and I was starting to get a better sneak peek of his weird fantasies and his sexual desires.
Some extremely hot, and some, extremely questionable.
Like, his incessant need to be vigorously bitten, slapped, scratched or grabbed with as much force as humanly possible whenever I was on top of him. I got a glance at that when he jumped me after his shower, yanking me into his lap to grind on him again.
He was sitting there, jaw clenched with his nostrils flaring heavily as he dug his fingers into my hips and yanked me forward and back roughly. He was sweating, drooling, just insatiable and out of control, "Take what you want, Cherry. I'm your dirty whore, aren't I? Just your pretty little puppet with a hard cock for you to use. Go on, hit me. Shove my face into the fuckin' bed and remind me where I belong."
A straight up, maniac.
I had to do more studying to make sure what we were doing was safe and that I was doing it the right way before I really indulged.
I'd said it before but sex was complicated and you didn't jump into a pool of crocodiles without learning how to kill a crocodile.
That was when I leaned the term "aftercare."
This fun little after-sex snack, cuddle and conversation to wind down from doing things like bondage or even just regular schmegular, bend-ya-over sex.
Harlow and I had always done it, but I never knew how important it was until I fucked up on the third day of our sexcapades.
