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This is one of my "relationship" stories. There's no actual sex involved, just foreplay. Most of the dialog is shared thought rather than speech. If it's difficult to distinguish his thoughts from her thoughts – that's part of the reality...

He sat on the floor, in front of the couch, his laptop on a mini-desk. His fingers wrestled with the words while his eyes threatened them with torture. It was the right moment. He wasn't getting any serious writing done and he was working too hard at not doing it.

He needed to stop working.

There was just enough room between him and the couch for her to slip behind him. She imagined herself on the back of a motorcycle, her arms wrapped around his chest and a hot engine between her legs.

At first, he seemed to not notice her but she knew how to fix that. Her arms around his chest, her breasts pressing into his back and a brief wave of her wrist under his nose – that got his attention.

He made the kiss-noise and smiled for her, but his fingers and eyes continued their assault on the words.

Unconcerned, she pressed forward, introducing the topic. How would you do it?

He stopped, looked up - remembering a conversation about another outlet for his frustration... He relaxed into her and closed his eyes. All thoughts of writing were banished from his mind.

She licked her lips, tasting her easy victory.

Do what?


A moment.

I want you to enjoy it.

I'm afraid I would hurt you.

So hurt me – I won't break.

She slid her hips forward and leaned back, giving him a reclining chair in her body. She kissed the peach fuzz on his earlobe as he lay back into her.

He released his body to her so his mind could explore the place that she wanted him to visit with her.

If I go too far, I'll lose you. You'll hate me for taking advantage of you. If I don't go far enough...

There was a desert fork on the plate, set aside.

Her tongue tasted blueberry as she cleaned it. Her left arm took his right elbow to hold it in place. Her right hand brought the fork to his side, pausing to find a target at the base of his ribs.

Hold still. Keep your eyes closed. Don't resist.

He took her upper arm in his right hand, readying himself.

Slowly, the four tines of the fork pressed on his skin.

Ignoring his twitch, she applied more pressure. Ignoring a guttural warning, she pressed further. Ignoring his "Ah!" she broke the skin.

He held his ground. He accepted the pain. He didn't resist. He trusted.

She twisted – and pressed. Red droplets coated the tines.

Breathing deepened. Muscles tightened, helping to restrain. He winced. He cried out.

She went no further - but didn't withdraw. The droplets threatened to form a trickle.

Do you still love me?

She twisted again.

Pain, enough to be unpleasant but not more than he could handle. Of course.

She twisted yet again. Would you love me if I went too far?


Will you leave me if I abuse you like this – for no reason but my own pleasure?

... No – of course not.

The fork thumped on the floor.

Her arms again circled his chest from behind. She kissed his neck and licked his ear.

So, how would you do it.

I could threaten – or force...

Or both.

A moment.

It would be sudden. Maybe I would come home early or maybe just do it on a whim... I would scare you.

Nape kiss.

Relaxing further. Probably in a moment of anger – frustration with the world – or with you; maybe when you get on my nerves... That's might be it. I might be angry, pissed off over something you did. Instead of scolding or punishing... I'd do it.

Ear nibble. I love you.

Push you against the wall. Get in your face. Lay into you. Slap you. Pin your arms. Rip your blouse. Bite your lips. Shove my hand down your skirt. Pinch you – again and again.

I'm your wife. I belong to you. I want you to feel your ownership of me.

Her hands stroked his chest from behind, kneading his impossibly large muscles.

How much is too much?

It's up to you.

I mean it. If I hurt you badly...

It's too much if ... if I can't please you anymore.

Smile. So, I shouldn't do anything to you that I don't want to live with...

Giggle. Leave some marks, little permanent marks in hidden places.

A moment.

So how would you do it?

Come here. I want to see you. I need to see your face. I need to know if... I just need to know.

She slid out from behind him, crawled around and sat in his lap, facing him, straddling his legs. Her hands rested on the nape of his neck. She studied her giant up close.

He held her in his arms. Her impossibly small body was - a little heaver than it looked... but still... it was like having an elf or a pixie for a wife. How on Earth did a six-foot-three man, a competitive archer, with arms seemingly larger than her body – how did he fall in love with such a slight woman?

Her fiery temper belied her diminutive size. She reminded him, occasionally, that five foot two isn't that short for a woman. The fact that she was a foot shorter than her husband had as much to do with him as with her.

A lot of her smallness was really her thinness – so narrow-waisted – narrow even in her shoulders and hips.

Perky... sometimes. A wildcat... sometimes.

But she seemed so fragile.

I won't break. We girls are built for it. It's what our bodies are designed for. Men have been doing it to us for a long, long time. I can take it.

I suppose... but... rape?

What good is it to have an enormous hunk of a husband if he won't occasionally use his muscles on me? I can't feel your strength unless you use it. I can't experience you if you hold back. You married a pipsqueak. I married a giant... It's what we both wanted.

A moment.

She was so close – her body was so small – it would be so easy... But it would be wrong.

He should pick on someone his own size. But... big or small, she was his wife.

When you married me, you put your trust in me. I can't hurt you.

When I married you, I put my faith in you. I don't need to trust you. I don't care if you hurt me.

I married all of you - including your strength - including your anger - including the blueberry syrup in your moustache.

She licked his face. They kissed, darting their tongues in and out.

A moment.

They stopped for breath, forehead to forehead, nose to nose, eyelashes to eyelashes.

So, how would you do it?

Taking her wrists in his hands, squeezing them hard. Like this...

He kicked the desk aside and sprawled forward with her still in his lap.

Her body fell back to the carpet.

His body surrounded her.

Eeek! ...
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