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Shannen
Age: 44
What is my sex: Fem
I prefer to drink: White wine
I prefer to listen: Easy listening
Hobbies: Drawing
Body tattoos: None

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I inhale deeply, preparing to enter the next mile, when I feel a hand grab my shoulder from behind. And tonight it was so easy.

At the park now, I zip up my hoodie against the mid-October chill. If it wasn't so dark, you'd see my pale skin flush at the mention of that particular moniker. I feel warm breath on the back of my exposed neck and I tremble, realizing with each passing second that I am in real danger, completely alone and small in this dark space. Even though this fight didn't end up like so many others, I still get off on riling you up a bit.

I am leaving and you are still on the other side of the door, muttering about how irresponsible I am being. Looking at you Interracial bdsm stories in this cold, wild place, I realize that it's because you willed it this way. I start to reach for you and you smack my hand away. It's eerily quiet, no real distractions, and I'm making fantastic time. Then I can be home to you earlier, and hopefully start to make up for my sarcastic transgression.

I don't see a single fellow jogger or even a person walking his dog in the first mile, which I find odd.

Do you understand? More often than not, this energy converts itself to loud, mad fucking amidst shattered pieces of vases or picture frames. I'm no fool, though- he wouldn't dare complain about the noise. I pause, smiling and even a bit self-satisfied, waiting for the neighbor to come out and pretend to glare at me. I'm pushed into a clearing a few feet away from the jogging path.

I tuck my fingers inside my running pants and slide them down my hips, past my shoes. One glance at your face and I know where all this is leading, what you want from me and what I'll be required to give. You wanted to frighten me into seeing your point and somehow got my subconscious senses to play along.

Your touch is so warm that I want to feel it everywhere, I want to feel the weight of you on me, your skin on my skin. It's almost like you want something bad to happen. He's a single guy who, after three years of living next to us, still can be drawn out by the yelling and stomping coming through the wall. You're holding my gaze and begging me not to leave.

Nobody is coming to save me from whatever this is. I feel tears welling up inside me, hating myself for not trusting you. After the warm-up song ends, I switch into higher gear and fill my lungs with the crisp autumn air. This is, of course, exactly what you want. An image of you floats before my eyes. I just laughed at your earnestness and laced up my Nikes. I want what's coming next.

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I cry out, nearly falling to my knees in relief. I freeze, all the nerves in my body suddenly standing up and screaming at once, my breath catching as I try to wriggle from the insistent grasp. You laugh, that loud, throaty laugh that caught my attention all those years ago and I want to run up to you, jump in your strong arms and bite you on your earlobe for scaring me, no matter how well-intentioned it was. You don't get to touch me. Before you decided to be a willful little slut.

I'll be fine, but it probably wasn't my best idea to come here now. I imagine you pacing a hole through the floor, your imposing 6'3'' frame walking back and forth as you stroke your beard in consternation, and I smile. The sun is already setting; trees cast spooky shadows along the running path and I realize that you were completely right about losing the light. When you and I argue, it often reaches a fever pitch. We fall into a familiar pattern of screaming, cursing and breaking things against the hardwood floor for emphasis, egging each other on until we're both red-faced and panting heavily.

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I hear twigs snapping and leaves rustling under our feet, some birds squawking overhead, and nothing else. But the sun is setting rapidly behind the horizon, must faster than I had anticipated, and it's getting colder and darker. You're covering my body with your body, holding me against you and rocking me back and forth, you're kissing my hair and telling me to listen.

I was annoyed that you have so little faith in me, and using our little inside joke to mock you was my way of expressing this. I increase my pace even more, my chest rising and falling as my muscles strain to meet my demand, dark red hair swinging behind me in the chill. I look at you and bite my lip. And then, suddenly, the hands are spinning me around by my shoulders, and I'm facing my attacker. Now I feel a mixture of both, and that notion causes a warmth to spread between my legs. Whatever the reason, this slight disobedience makes me shiver.

Your prophetic words appear suddenly in my mind, sounding in this horrible moment like a curse. I felt a tinge of something stir inside me, and I wondered if you felt it, too.

Maybe I'm still a little perturbed that you hatched this plot to scare me straight. That's the last time I'm going to say it. The thought that I may be in trouble when I get home filled me again with that familiar twinge of desire mixed with the slightest bit of alarm. When your fingers dug into my arm, I winced a bit, biting my lip as I looked up at you. As I walk to the park near our house, your words are still clear in my mind.

"i'll get what i want from you, kira--both things. and i'm not going to beg for either of them. you, however, will."

You do not like being called silly, nor do you like me challenging your ideas about what is and isn't safe in this place we live, your hometown. Soon, you will be able to feel it too. This is not an unfamiliar dynamic for us; you are frequently burrowing into my psyche in ways that make me feel in turns loved and somewhat violated. The heat from your hand is already making me light-headed, and I can feel myself getting ready for you.

You didn't listen, and little girls who don't listen don't get to call the shots now, do they? Suddenly, my right ear bud is ripped from my ear and there are lips pressed against me. I slam the door to our apartment so hard that I hear something fall to the ground on the other side.

You weren't wrong. A look of displeasure crossed your handsome features then, darkening them and causing me just a second of doubt. I'm running faster than I ever have on this route, and I'm Interracial bdsm stories powerful—much larger and stronger than my 5'5'', petite self. Wait until tomorrow. This is why we have nothing to fear from the noise: our neighbor likes listening to our fighting turn to frantic moans and growls as we screw our anger away.

I open my mouth to scream, still struggling to extricate myself, but before a sound forms in my throat, another hand, large and strong, covers my lips. I am all alone on the path, a steady bass thumping in my ear as I start my warm-up jog, and I make the decision to only do four instead of my normal six mile run. I start to make my move, but you hold me back by the shoulders, fixing me with a look that I can tell means this lesson is far from over.

The cool air hits the bare flesh of my thighs and I shake a bit, watching goose bumps form up and down my shapely calves. It's not safe, you'll lose the light," you nearly pleaded with me, taking my hand in your much larger one. I put my ear buds in, stretching my qu against a large oak and wonder if I should have listened to you. Your hand is steadily sliding towards the inside of my thigh, your nails digging into my skin with the slightest of pressure. Then you said my name. This is what you do to me. I know the statistics Your grip tightened around my wrist, your hand easily able to encircle it.

The neighbor is out of luck today, however. How did I not know those were your massive hands on me, or that it was your voice in my ear? I know it's cold," you whisper, the tenderness in your voice not matching up with the hand that is roughly instigating itself into my panties.