Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience. Tell Me, by Medea (medeafk@hotmail.com) "Tell me what you want," he says. She's silent for a moment, then replies. "I don't know." This isn't entirely true, but it's easy to say. In the dark room he can't see her indecision, though the tone of her voice reflects it. He is patient, and for a few minutes she thinks quietly. They lie clothed, on top of the bed covers, two friends who have known each other for years, though never all that close. It seemed easy to ask him in, even to invite him to her bedroom, but now she hesitates. An hour ago they were at a party, surrounded by other people. She found herself sitting in a chair, off to one side of the crowd, sipping her drink alone. The people around her were happy, lively, and both friends and strangers stopped to chat for a bit. It didn't seem to be working for her, though. She couldn't quite engage with the surrounding mood. She was starting to think it might have been better to stay home and read a book, when one more person walked up. He guessed her mood immediately, and most days might have shrugged and continued on to look for a livelier conversation elsewhere, but this time he stayed. There was something about the way she looked at him, that called him to pay more attention. He offered to take her home, and once there, she asked him if he might like to come in for a minute. "There are things we never talk about," she says, not looking over at him on the other side of the bed when she speaks. "Maybe in the abstract, general sense, or when they apply to other people's lives, but never when it's about ourselves." "Did you ask me here to talk?" he asks. She sighs. "Not exactly. But it's hard for me to answer your question, and I started thinking about why." "I'm not really sure what you want from me tonight," he says. "Some nights, all I think about is love. That magic sheen that it seems to give ordinary days, and the tangible difference when it's gone. It's not just love that I miss when I'm single, though. It's touch, it's that feeling of connection, it's the lust and the sex and everything else that goes with it. But then I realize all of the ways that my life includes love and connection with people and lust and desire. What I miss most is the physical touch." He rolls onto his side to face her, and reaches towards her. "So I should touch you?" "Well, yes," she laughs. "Why else would we be in my bed if that weren't true, though? It's more than that." "What, then?" "One of the things we never talked about... Some people do BDSM, and it's all about the power relationship, but not for me. I want the sensations of pleasure and pain and overwhelming feeling, the sort that crowds out all other thought. I want to be held down and used." This is his turn to be silent. "And I wanted you," she says, "because I knew you could give me that." He responds by taking her hands, which are resting on her stomach as she speaks, and pulling her to face him. "I can't touch very much of you with those clothes in the way." She smiles. "You have to strip, too." Quietly, they get up and take off their clothes. She gets under the covers, now naked, to avoid the chill of the room. He climbs in beside her. Her mind is full with anticipation, but also hesitancy, and worries that this will go badly. She likes him, but their friendship has been nearly devoid of physical contact, even hugging. She knows enough about his past relationships and preferences to want him here, but she's still uncertain whether he can give her what she needs tonight, despite what she says. He moves closer to put his arm around her. His manner has changed, becoming a little more feral. When he touches her, the energy she feels puts all her fears to rest. Everything about him speaks raw lust. She closes her eyes, nestling her chin in the curve of his neck, feeling her body press against his warmth. His hand presses into the curve of her waist. "This is my favorite curve," he says. "The place where the hip joins the side of the back." And he grabs her there, as if trying to pull her even closer. They begin to rock back and forth together. She moves her leg to rest on top of his, increasing the stimulation of her clit. His erection presses against her thigh. As their arousal increases, he begins to growl underneath his breath. She is slick and wet, and his body against hers feels so good, but it's not enough yet, even though his fingers press into her body, almost like they want to tear through the skin, and she's too turned on to speak to ask him to fuck her. He knows, though, and he pushes her onto her back and straddles her. He takes his cock in his hand, and rubs the tip along her wet slit, teasing her. She opens her eyes, and stares at him in the faint light that leaks into the room from the street outside, and sees his teeth shine as he smiles. He pushes into her fast, so fast, and she moans, losing herself in the feeling of his cock pounding into her cunt. He grabs her wrists, and pins them on either side of her head, pushing them down into the pillows, balancing himself as he fucks her. She presses back against him, daring him to hold her still. This only increases his thrusting, until he stops for a moment and pulls out. "Turn over," he orders her. She lies with her face pressed against the pillows, barely able to breathe even with her head tilted to one side. It's made worse by his weight pressing against her. He continues to pound into her, grabbing her by the hips to bring her onto her knees. She reaches under herself to finger her clit. The angle and the jolting is all wrong to get much stimulation, but it doesn't really matter. Within moments it's enough, and she goes limp as her climax fades. He takes the opportunity to rest. He's close to his own orgasm, but there's one more thing he wants to do, first. He slides his fingers down along her slit, which is exposed by the way her hips are still in the air even though her head rests on the pillow. He dips a finger, then two, into her cunt, enjoying the slippery feeling. Then he brings them to the pucker of her anus, and slides his middle finger inside, ever so slowly. She moans, clearly still aroused. He fucks her with the finger until he thinks she's ready for the second. She's so turned on, it doesn't hurt at all. He removes his fingers and slides his cock back into her cunt, getting it as wet and slippery as he can. And then he pushes it into her ass. She gasps as the head of his cock enters her; it's much larger than his fingers. His grip on her waist is firm. She hopes she'll have bruises in the morning. His pace remains slow enough that she begins to push back against him, even though the way his cock stretches her open when he's all the way in is mildly uncomfortable. This is not about being comfortable. He teases her a moment longer, and then slams into her as hard as he can. He pulls out slowly, and then again, wham. Her eyes well up with tears, the sort that come from being overwhelmed by emotion and sensation and the need to have more, even when it's already almost too much. He pushes her down onto the bed again, his weight centered on hers, and as he sinks his teeth into her neck and his cock firmly into her ass, he comes, spurting his milky fluid inside her. They lie on the bed, sweaty and panting even after he rolls off of her, the covers long ago kicked to the floor. She reaches under the bed for her vibrator, not quite finished yet. She presses it to her clit and turns it on, trying to draw out just one more orgasm, one more to end the evening. As he recovers, he joins in, sucking and biting the nipple closest to him, as she pinches and twists the other with her free hand. It doesn't take long before she's gasping and coming so hard the tears return. After she switches the vibrator off, she lies there in silence, letting it all drain away. He gets up to clean himself off, and before he comes back, she's asleep. In the morning he's gone, and there's a note on the table by the bed. I'm not very good at mornings, it says. I hope you understand. Give me a call sometime.