Twice Each Month

I force myself upon my girlfriend about twice a month.

Such a statement sounds so cruel and negative I am obliged to explain it. Ours isn't a common situation and the explanation is quite lengthy. But I want to write about it, as I believe explaining the details will help me feel a little less guilty about the most exciting sexual relationship of my life.

My girlfriend's name is Lisa. Lisa and I met about eighteen months ago. I think most relationships like ours, serious dating relationships, begin in much the same way. We met at a party and found each other there because our circles of friends overlapped. We got to know each other at that party, and I asked her out. We dated for a couple of months before progressing to an exclusive relationship. About eight months ago, she moved in with me when her lease ended.

She's is personable and friendly and we're very compatible. She works a little bit too much, just like I do. While I work as a process engineer at an oil refinery, she works as a bartender at a hotel near the airport. The hotel has a wonderful restaurant, and her bar is in that restaurant.

Lisa has been bartending at that hotel for years, earning a few regular customers—including businessmen who commute to our city for their work. I'm always impressed by her tip take, though it doesn't surprise me that she gets along well with her customers. Her outgoing and upbeat personality is just as attractive to me as it must be to the bar patrons.

In addition to that work she is also taking a few classes towards becoming a doctor of veterinary medicine. Her progress has been slow, but it accumulates steadily and she's always just a little closer to her goal.

I keep busy at work, since my responsibilities are all over the refinery. If you live within a couple hundred miles of our town, you probably put my gasoline in your car. If you've ever flown into or out of the airport near the hotel that hosts Lisa's bar, the one that serves our city, your airplane has been serviced by a truck carrying jet fuel or aviation gas from my refinery.

We're very happy together, and I've thought of asking Lisa to marry me. The subject hasn't come up yet, though, at least not seriously. But I suppose I'll do it, as the time we have had in our relationship together has been enjoyable, constructive, pleasant, and fun.

We frequently enjoy sex together. Lisa is a beautiful woman, just turning 25 last month. She's a little more than a year younger than I, and will probably tease me about the apparent two year difference in our age until my birthday in the fall.

Her hair is a medium brown color. Ending well past her shoulders, it's a little longer than that of most women I've previously dated. Her grey eyes are bright and wide, setting off her dark complexion and hair like a spark in the forest.

Lisa's lips are thick and soft, but not obscenely puffy like some of the actresses you see these days. Her nose is just a bit big and she's very self-conscious of it, but I think it matches her wide eyes and full lips perfectly. Her face is broad and bright, balanced and warm.

My girlfriend's body is a delight. She's a bit petite, standing about five-feet, four inches and having a very slight build. Her shoulders are proportionally broad and her chest is very ample for her body size. Her breasts aren't exactly large, but are very plump and wide, forming a wonderful cleavage, particularly under her broad shoulders and thin frame. For some of our formal dates, she has worn an off-the-shoulder dress that she fills wonderfully. When aroused, her soft conical areolas crinkle into hard rubbery points.

I'm sometimes worried that I actually worship her pussy. Lisa's keeps herself trimmed neatly, though not completely shaved. Her tiny opening has thick and soft folds, pink and sweetly scented. She gets wet at the drop of a hat. Once, when I went away on business, she came to pick me up at the airport and refused to get out of the car at the curb. As we drove away, she showed me why; in anticipation of my arrival, she had made a rather visible damp spot in her jeans!

All the things I wanted for myself, wanted to give to someone else, are almost fully realized in our relationship.

Almost fully, I say, because I've sometimes found that my sexual appetite is slightly larger than Lisa's. At least slightly larger, and maybe substantially larger. Or a little bit more diverse, or perhaps just a little bit more aggressive. Maybe it's just that I am more dominant, or more exploratory. We have grown comfortable together, and are sometimes too distracted or busy or tired to properly satisfy each other.

However the difference would best be described, and whatever its cause, it is certain that my physical attraction for her at times is almost overwhelming while my ability to demonstrate my carnal desire for her seems at least limited.

Having an incredibly attractive live-in girlfriend flaunt herself in front of me, often without even realizing it, builds my libido to a tremendous pressure. I started secretly masturbating when she was working late, but soon became frustrated with that. My desires have begun to gain momentum and they often exceed my ability to keep them in check.

Perhaps I'm lying to myself about it, and it's really just that I'm too weak. Or that I see no reason to deny myself what I want, or deny myself what I already have. Whatever the explanation, the disparity between my sex drive and Lisa's has caused me to force myself upon her.

The first time I had my way with her was about four months ago. Lisa woke up a little late, and ended up rushing into the bathroom while I was shaving. She told me that she needed to make a meeting with her advisor at school, and that she had forgotten it last night so she hadn't set her alarm. Now that she remembered the appointment, she felt lucky to have woken up. If she hurried, she told me, she would probably still make the meeting.

While I finished shaving, she showered. By the time I was done cleaning up, she was finished with her shower. Completely nude and leaning slightly forward over the counter in the bathroom to apply her makeup, I studied her body hungrily. I think we hadn't had sex for about a week at that time, and simply viewing her soft, toned body in a slightly provocative posture and made me physically aroused almost immediately.

After toweling off, I walked behind her and pressed my erection into the cleft of her ass. She smiled at me in the mirror, and leaned back as I hugged her and kissed her shoulder.

"I'd love to play," she said. "But I'm late."

"So be a little late," I said. I almost told her that it wouldn't take long, that I'd be happy to give her a pounding and send her on her way. Instead, I tried to build her interest by caressing her sides. She leaned back into me, closing her eyes, until I touched her breasts.

"No," she said, snapping to attention. "I have to get to the administration building for my meeting, and parking there is terrible."

Despite her excuses, I felt as though she was being a little less than truthful. She might not otherwise want to play, as she put it. Though I might have been too harshly judging her, just thinking of her not wanting to execute on an opportunity to have sex made me feel at least slightly resentful.

I didn't say anything. Instead, I leaned back a bit and pressed my erection down so it was now between her legs, pushing up against her pussy. Leaning forward again, I collected her in my arms and pressed my hips towards her.

"You're relentless, Joe! I really have to make it to this meeting."

"And I really need to make it into your pussy," I said. I pulled my hips back and forth, causing the head and shaft of my dick to rub her exterior lips.

"Lemme go. We can do it tonight," she said, squirming a bit against my arms.

I reached around her hip and spread her folds gently with my fingers, revealing her dewy moisture. Her body's reaction betrayed her resistance, showing me by her wetness that I was getting at least some of her attention. Adeptly moving my fingers, I pressed my cock up and bent my knees slightly. My next wiggle forward caused me to penetrate her shallowly.

"Oh, god," she said. "You can't do this, I have to go." She pressed her arm against me, trying to twist. I grabbed it, and pulled it behind her back. She leaned forward, catching herself with her other arm. As her torso rotated towards the counter, I pressed into her more deeply.

"Let go of me! I mean it, Joe!" she shouted.

I didn't say a word. By then her warm pussy was surrounding half my cock. Leaning forward, I found her other arm and pulled it back towards me. With both her wrists behind her, she was forced forward onto the towels that we had discarded on the counter after our showers. Lisa looked at me in the mirror, her face showing a mixture of anger and surprise as I rocked my hips forward, burying myself into her balls deep.

And so I began fucking her. I pulled my hips back and plunged forward as I held her wrists behind her back. Her body was so sweet, her hips pleasantly wide under the curve of her back, her ass firm and milky smooth. In the mirror, I could see her tits shake with my thrusts.

"Dammit, Joe, I have to get to campus!" She tried to twist her wrists from my grip, but her skin was still tacky from the shower. The tone of her voice told me she really did want to get to her meeting, but I also detected a slight waiver that let me know she felt, and enjoyed, my penetration.

I might be accused of any number of physical defects, but I've somehow managed to develop quite rewarding control over my own orgasms. I can hold myself off almost as long as I want, or let myself go. Lisa and I almost always cum in unison, unless I feel like being a gentleman and let her get off first.

Our encounter in the bathroom that morning was one of the instances where I just let myself go. I could feel her body tensing slightly, but I pumped into her hard and let my pleasure build until I erupted inside her. I let go of her hands just after my orgasm peaked so that I could grab her hips and force my last few spurts deep inside her. I lasted about five minutes, I suppose.

Immediately as I released her, she started to twist away from me. When I relaxed my grip on her hips, she stood up straight, relieving my penis of the warm home it had found in her luscious body.

Then she slapped me and left the room.

I chuckled to myself as I toweled off my hair once more before starting to brush it dry. She stomped into the bathroom a few minutes later, fully dressed.

"I'm leaving," she told me, flatly.

"OK. What do you want to do for dinner?" It was one of the days she'd go to school and not bartend, so we'd share the evening together. I tried to act nonchalant, though my cock had only partially deflated and betrayed my apathy by jutting out from my crotch, slick with our fluids.

"I'm sure you can fix something for yourself," she said, and left.

I went to work, thinking I might have been in real trouble. I wrestled with it all day; while she clearly had said "no", she didn't tell me to stop. At least, not in so many words, though she was rather clear about not wanting to do it.

On the other hand, I felt great, like I had completed a conquest, or won a contest. I supposed that I felt I had demonstrated my manhood, however ill the after-effects might be. She's hot, and she's my girlfriend. Why shouldn't I stick it inside her, even if she protested a little? No small aspect of being my live-in girlfriend is satisfying my physical needs. And she'd kill me if I put some moves on the snack bar girl at the office cafeteria, or that flirty saleswoman from the chemical equipment company. Besides, would five minutes really make that much of a difference in her schedule?

What was I to do? At some level, I excused any sense of wrong-doing by believing that I was just taking what's mine. After someone pays for a new car, they shouldn't feel guilty for driving it, should they?

When I returned from work later that day, I was surprised to find Lisa already at home. She had ditched her school outfit for sweats and a tee shirt and was sitting in the living room.

When she saw me, she announced: "We have to talk."

"Okay," I said. I figured she'd give me a reprimand about being rough with her, about not respecting what she wanted, but I'd also thought about a few things I could ay in my defense: mostly surrounding how she didn't put out when I wanted her to, and how it wasn't fun for me when she said no.

"It's about what you did this morning," she started.

"Uh-huh," I said, hoping a little indifference would keep her from yelling at me.

"I'm not sure I know how to say this, but I really liked what you did to me," she said softly.

Her words hung in the air while I stared at her dumbfounded. She continued to tell me that she sometimes feels guilty about sex, about fucking. She told me she understood that I didn't really have much guilt or worry when it came to sex, and she wished she felt the same way. But she was burdened, but she wanted me to try and help her.

"Help you?" I asked.

We talked for more than half an hour, mostly her telling me that she wasn't offended at what happened, but was very afraid about discussing all this and how I'd react. I reassured her as best I could that it didn't bother me, but I wanted to know what she would have us do.

It came out in the conversation that my unrelenting advances towards her that morning had made her feel incredibly sexy and very much desired. And she felt like a bit of a victim, so she didn't have to feel guilty about what she was doing—it was more that she was letting me do it to her. If she enjoyed it, too, then that somehow seemed okay to her.

She begged me to not think any less of her. I simply couldn't believe it; my girlfriend was actually apologizing for not wanting sex as much as I was, and was encouraging me to help her by just taking it from her. Here I was, thinking that she'd be upset with me or even leave me after this morning's episode, and she was begging me to do more of the same!

The subject of limits came up, what I should try, and what I shouldn't. She said that she wanted me to be even rougher than I had been this morning, as aggressive as I dared. She wanted some way to make me stop—really stop, for sure—that wouldn't be confused with her resistance. The point was, after all, that she really would try to resist and not necessarily be feigning purity or reluctance.

We settled on "rumplestiltskin" as a code word. If she uttered it, I'd stop immediately, no questions asked. It seemed a little childish, and maybe that helped break the tension surrounding the issue because we giggled at it a bit.

Otherwise, the issue was solved. After our conversation, in the awkward silence, she moved from her chair to the couch and started kissing me, thanking me a couple of times as we necked. She went to her knees before the couch and removed my shoes and pants. She proceeded to suck me off as delicately as she ever has, but with far more passion. I came in her mouth and she licked me clean before we went upstairs.

After her satisfying blow job, it was especially easy for me to control myself and I decided that I wanted to make her cum—twice. We changed positions smoothly, saying almost nothing. Her wet pussy accommodated my rigid hardness sweetly, yielding to every one of my surges.

Lisa's first orgasm took her only shortly after I mounted her missionary style. I kept fucking her right through it, even as she bucked her hips and pulled on my arms. After a few more thrusts, I pulled her to the edge of the bed and put her feet over my shoulders, pumping her aggressively. Then, she moved off the bed to stand next to it, leaning over, so I could give her my cock from behind. It was in that position that I gave her a second orgasm.

Our sex life tangibly changed that night. I was now in control, and she had given me carte blanche over her body. Despite the shift in control, it was a more than a month after that transition before I ended up exercising our new agreement.

I suppose the more dramatic change was slow in coming because Lisa had opened up a little. We had more frequent—and more importantly, more aggressive—sexual encounters. We did it about twice a week during that intervening month before our frequency tapered off. After two weeks in a row with only two fucks, I was starting to feel more aggressive.

One Friday after we hadn't had sex since the previous weekend, I again raped her. She had returned home from school to find me in the garage, puttering around with the lawn mower. Lisa parked and said hello, and told me she was eager to get upstairs and start studying. I kissed her longer than usual, grabbing her butt through her Washington County Community College sweatpants.

She just reiterated her desire to crack the books, and I decided I'd clean-up the mower, wash my hands, and fuck her anyway. While I finished with the mower and put away my tools, I thought of how distracted I sometimes became simply by thinking of her body. I worked myself into a frenzy with my own thoughts as I realized how much she distracted me but how infrequently I allowed my self to follow-through on my intentions. Certainly, there was nothing wrong with me acting on my desires for her after denying myself so frequently!

By the time I was in the laundry room, soaping-up with the degreaser, I had a raging hard-on. I knew I'd get some pussy tonight, one way or another. Perhaps the thought of just taking it from her was what had me so eager.

When I went upstairs, I found Lisa dutifully pouring over a couple of books and a fold-out chart at her desk. I stood behind her and rubbed her shoulders.

"Hey," she said.

"I'm done with the mower," I told her.

"Great! I'll be a while. Do you want to just have a sandwich for dinner?"

"Well, I was thinking we could have a little roll in the hay."

"Not tonight. Or maybe when we go to bed. I've got to get through this," she said. She tapped a pencil at a big chart spread on her desk which showed the organs and tissue structures that went into making the hind quarters of a horse.

"Yeah, but I'm pretty horny," I said.

She didn't respond; she just flipped a page in one of her textbooks. And that was it; I felt a rush of adrenaline and put my arms under hers. I lifted, pulling her out of her chair. She yelped, and I kicked the chair to the side and out from under her.

"No!" she yelled.

"Shut up," I hissed. I had control of her in something of a half-nelson, one arm under her armpit and the other grabbing the opposite hand. I carried and drug her to the couch in her study and threw her on the sofa face first. When she tried to rise, I put my hand on the center of her back and reached around her to grab at the tie on her sweats.

She squirmed under me, kicking her legs just a little. "I don't want to!" She yelled.

"I told you to shut up!" I yelled, yanking her sweatpants down. I had hooked her thin panties, too, and her ass was bare before me.

With my left hand, I grabbed her hair and tugged. "Quit squirming," I told her, pulling down my own sweatpants with my other hand and dropping my drawers. My cock immediately sprung out, stiff and throbbing.

Lisa whined and half sobbed. She said something I couldn't understand, and I realized I had pushed her face into the back cushions of the couch. Roughly, I yanked her hair to the side and she sobbed again. "I don't want to fuck you right now," she said.

"That's too bad. I waited all week for you to give me some action, you frigid little bitch." It was the first time I had been verbally abusive to her, ever. I hesitated slightly to see what her reaction would be, and she just continued sniveling.