Hard

HARD

Lily
Harlem & Natalie
Dae

Hard

Her

How do I tell you? Should I just come out
with it? Slip it into a conversation about what
we’re
having for dinner or something we could do at the weekend?

I really
don’t
know,
but one thing I’m sure of is you’ll be shocked.
I’m
a
little bit shocked at myself to be honest.

But what can I do about it?

If
it’s
what I want,
it’s what I want.

I keep
visualising
it, all day, every day, like a movie playing in my mind. Your hands in my hair—not
you slipping your fingers through the long strands in your normal loving way,
but rough and tight, scooping it up into a ponytail and yanking it, hard, so
that my neck jerks back and I have to look up at your face.

Your strong, determined face, narrowed eyes,
lips moist where
you’ve
just licked them. I can tell
you’re
thinking about all you’re going to do to me.

That’s
just the start
of it. I want that mixed with the heat of your hot, excited breaths blasting onto
my cheek, your chest rising and falling wildly against mine, and your cock,
your cock hard and demanding and you not willing to take no for an answer.

Because we could play that game, we
are allowed
.

Aren’t
we?

Yes, and then I see you ripping at my top,
not caring if buttons fly across the room or the material shreds.
That’s
not your concern. All you want to do is get to my
tits, grope them, squeeze,
make
me moan for more.

The rest of the world would cease to exist. It
would just be us, in that room, seeking a desperate, frantic satisfaction. But
you would be in
control,
you’re the man, the
instigator, the dominant half of us.

Your kisses would be wild, excited,
you’d
maybe nip me, too, with your teeth, and grip me hard,
forgetting your own strength. Pull me this way and that, tip me over a chair,
ass in the air, maybe press me to my knees, groin level, or throw me onto the
bed so that the breath gushes from my lungs.

I’d
adore all of
those fast, impatient sensations, knowing that I’d pushed you to the very edge
of your control, past it even. It would turn me on so much.

Would you like it too? If I gave you
permission to let your inner beast out and have you stop behaving like a
gentleman, an adoring, sweet, tender husband who cherishes his wife?

I think you would. What man
wouldn’t
?

It would be so horny,
wouldn’t
it? To let our passion take flight unrestrained. You could do it anytime, you
know. Just grab me and fuck me. It
doesn’t
have to be
at night beneath the duvet, in the dark. Whenever the urge suits
you
it would suit me too. I am yours. I want you to own me,
take what you need to satisfy those most basic desires of yours.

Yes, take what you need. Please
don’t
hold back. I
won’t
break.

Him

Jesus, where did
that
come from? How long have you been feeling like this? Thinking
about this? And you
didn’t
tell
me? Why not? You know you can tell me anything. This just
proves it.
You’ve
thought about it, mulled it over a
bit, then said what you want. Was it difficult to do? Did you think I
wouldn’t
want to fuck you like that? That maybe
I’d
think you were dirty or cheap, not the woman I married?

I’m
going to admit
something, and damn, I didn’t
realise
how difficult
it would be.
I’ve got
to admire you there—on being
open, I mean.

Okay. Here we go.

I
can’t
deny I
haven’t thought about it myself. But…you know me too well.
You’re
my delicate little flower.
How the hell
could I take
you roughly—as roughly as
that
—and
not feel guilty afterwards?

What was that you said?

Yeah, there is that—if you want it, if I want
it, then
it’s
okay. But is it? I mean, really? You
wouldn’t
mind me just grabbing you, bending you over the
table, yanking down your panties and fucking you there and then?
Don’t
you have to be in the right frame of mind for it? I
know
I’d
have to be.
There’s
a mood for everything, isn’t there. I
couldn’t
just…just flick a switch and turn myself into that beast you mentioned.

Do I feel like a beast now?
Yeah, in two ways.
One, I feel bad for even entertaining a
fuck like that—even though you’ve said you want it that way—and two, this
conversation has me all riled up. When you described it, I saw it, you know?
Saw everything you mentioned, and fuck,
I’d
be a liar
if I said it didn’t turn me on. You see that? See how hard I am?

What? You want me to act on it?
Now?

Christ. She
means it. Damn fire in her eyes, the same as when
she’s
really going for it.
In a frenzy, wanting it hard and fast.

Just…just give me a second here.

So
let’s
get this
straight. You wouldn’t mind if I came home from work one day and, while
you’re
standing there looking at me, I toss my briefcase
down, walk up to you and whip your blouse open? What if
it’s
your
favourite
blouse? What if I rip it? You know how
you are about your clothes… And what if the day I come home wanting it raw and
edgy, you
don’t
?
I’m
worried
our moods won’t match and it’ll all go to shit.

Emails?
Texts?
Yeah, that could work.
Starting in
the morning, working ourselves up until I arrive.
We’d
know what the other was up for then, wouldn’t we. No chance of getting it
wrong.

And why now?
Why tell me
now? Are we getting boring, is that it? Do you think we need to spice things up
or what? Or have you always wanted it like that and have kept it from me all
these years? Tell me. Tell me where it all came from.

Otherwise, a man might start to worry.

Her

Maybe I
was
scared that
you’d
think I was a slut, but that fear
has paled into the distance now. The want, the need is too strong.
I’ve
had to swallow the embarrassment pill and just come out
with it. Where the images, the overwhelming desire has come from,
I’m
not sure. But the compulsion is there now, to stay, like
another actual living, breathing presence inside me. Perhaps
it’s
been there all along and has only just shown itself; maybe it has just arrived,
I really can’t say for sure.

But
I’m
glad you
know now. We never have secrets from each other, and no, I
don’t
think our sex life is boring, not at all, this is just something I want, and
well, if I don’t do it with you, I’ll never do it at all, because there is only
you. Will only ever be you.

You’re
hard, aren’t
you? I can see your cock bulging against your jeans, the delicious, thick
outline of your shaft straining forward. And your cheeks,
they’re
a little flushed, and you’re fiddling too, winding that tea towel around your
fingers like it’s in a spin drier.

But no, we
don’t
have to do it now. Not if you
aren’t
ready. Maybe you
need to get to know your beast before he comes out to play. I want to meet him,
really I do, and see what he has to offer. How long he can stay hidden now he
has made himself known?

Next week? That long? No…

I’ll
put on an old
blouse if you text me something racy that lets me know I’m going to be at your
mercy when you step through the door. Hell,
I’ll
go
without panties just to prove how much I want it, that I truly am yours. Tell
me what I must do, in that text. Call me a bad girl, a slave, a whore, whatever
comes to mind. And no, you
mustn’t
feel guilty, this
is all about pleasure, giving in to what we want and removing all the frosting
and glitter, getting right down to the bare bones of our lust for each other.

You’re
still spinning
that cloth, what is it?

I’m
sure you’ll be
able to last long enough. You always do, and with me so riled up, ready for
action,
I’ll
be clawing the walls before you even get
home.

You’ll
know that I’m
turned on because I’ll be so wet for you.
Juice seeping down
my leg if I do go without panties.
I think
you’d
like that. It would prove how much I want this and need to
be
taken
—no romance, no endearments, just fucked with an unharnessed
intensity that makes it hard to think let alone breathe.

I
can’t
believe I’m
saying all this in the broad light of day, but it has to be said, even if it’s
hard to articulate. Even if
it’s
turning my stomach
upside down and making my clit throb just at the thought that this might
actually happen now.

Him

I’m
thinking to
myself that if I’m hard then I must be ready, but to be honest I feel a bit
nervous. I mean, we
haven’t
done anything planned like
this before, have we. If
we’ve
been rough in the past
it was by accident not design. It sort of feels as though I’ll have to perform,
get it right, when inside I’m feeling that I’ll get it wrong. Not the beast
thing and fucking you—no, not that—but the hard bit.
The raw
bit.
I’m
not making myself very clear, am I.
You’re
frowning.

What I mean is…
fuck,
this is more difficult than I thought. Talking about it, saying things
we’ve
never said before, and even though we know each other
inside out, I can’t look at you. It
isn’t
because of what
you said you wanted, more that I can’t…shit, I’m embarrassed and I shouldn’t
be. Not with you. But
that’s
how it is, and I’m mad at
myself for it. I want to say so much but…

Yeah, you could be right. Talking about this
kind of thing has never been “us” has
it.
Well, maybe
it ought to be. What do you reckon?
It’s
clear there
are things we’ve never done, things we both want to do.

I’ll
try again, try
to explain myself.

Hard.
It’s
the savagery I can’t handle. No,
that’s
not it. I
can
handle it, and maybe
that’s
what my problem is. I know
I’ll
enjoy it and handle it all too well, and that’s the rub.
I’m
struggling to think of you as a slut or whatever, because you’re not.