Dogfight

2026-03-14T19:23:09Z

For the very first and very last time in my life I will ask for a fight. Knowing this has given me the courage to storm into your house and burst open a bottle of gin to pour myself an excessively strong drink that I am already halfway through. You know better than to repeat your concerns about my empty stomach offering nothing to soak up even the slightest bit of alcohol. I'm in a craze and your initial startled reaction is turning into amused entertainment as you watch me sitting straddle-legged on the floor in front of the fireplace, listen to my tirades about the injustices I've had to endure and refill your glass.

Eventually, the ranting stops and I turn my face away from the warmth of the fire towards you to take you in. You were born for combat. You're a beast of a man, not only because of your intimidating strength but mainly because of your inner steeliness. You won't refuse, on the contrary. You've been waiting for this moment since the day you realised that in me you finally found a woman that welcomes and even invites your savagery. With the gin somersaulting in my ***, the request rolls off my tongue with ease.

I want to fight with you. I want to be allowed to hit you, scratch you, knock you down, bite you. I want it to be a fight without any rules. Neither for me nor for you.

The moment you hear my words, your eyes sharpen, your nostrils widen and your lips twitch slightly as you try to suppress a smirk. You pretend having to consider your willingness to spend your evening like this when in truth you are wondering whether the enjoyment it would bring you weighs heavier than the potential risk of injuries to my body or damage to the bond between us. It does. You nod and we begin.

At first, it's a dance. Boisterously I jump up and take two steps towards you. You react by slowly rising from the sofa, unfolding, pushing your chest forward and lifting your chin slightly, forcing me to tilt my head back in order to be able to meet your gaze. This demonstration of your physical superiority is enough to make me abandon my plan of a brazen attack and instead I decide on a more strategic approach. As I prepare to circle you I throw my chin up with a short laugh and let my arms swing along my body. I grin at you to show you my teeth, proving my innocence; I spin around to show you my stomach and my chest, displaying my vulnerability; I cock my head to the side and bite my lower lip, signaling my lustfulness. You can't resist my advances and your eyes soften as you offer me a smile - the exact reaction I have been waiting for. My right fist flies forward, lands on the side of your ribcage, while the left fist starts hammering onto your chest. The surprise that has you in its grip assists me in my evasive moves and several times your hand seizes nothing but air as you try to catch me, my agility being my greatest, if only advantage. My confidence is growing and has soon become cockiness. I slither behind you and jump at your back, loop my arm around your neck and squeeze. My body starts to shake from exertion as I mobilise all the strength it can provide. In vain. Effortlessly, you grab my forearm, lift it off your neck and pull it forward, making me fly, eventually placing me right in front of you. I'm furious. Of course, I was aware that my chances are slim in this trial of strength. But there is no need to make it this obvious.

I huff and walk away from you towards my glass, take the last sip and refill it straight away. If my attacks are to have any effect on you, I need to summon mania. So I drink. Then put down the glass. Turn around. Lower my head. Stare at you. Take a deep breath in - and run. My scalp leads the way as I race through the room, your belly my bull's eye. With an ear-shattering scream I ram into you, full f0rce. You don't budge, not even the tiniest bit. To you, this collision felt like a raindrop bursting on your skin and this realisation makes me loathe you!

Yet, you finally join the game. Your hand is suddenly gripping my shoulder, your teeth are sinking into my neck, you push me down to the floor, now trying to get on top of me, not counting on my flexibility that allows me to wriggle out from underneath you, wire myself around you and slip through your fingers time and again, until you've had enough and brutally grab the first body part you can get a hold of, pin it down and jam my body into your embrace. While you are detaining me with one arm, your other hand ignores my vocal and physical objection and pulls down everything that stands between your fingers and my pussy. You grab her hard. This is not about getting me excited, this is about showing me my place. For hours, I keep striking out at you, you keep wrestling me down, immobilising me, groping me, pinching me, crushing me, fucking me, ridiculing my every attempt.

And then I give up.

Despite the adrenaline dampening my p@in receptors, every centimeter of my body is hurting as we toast to the last round for tonight. The room smells of exhaustion and bodily fluids. Our muscles are tired, our minds are dazed but our brains are still overstimulated and just won't wind down, constantly replaying the most brutish moments. You biting into the inside of my foot making me shriek in agony, me taking a huge sip of my drink and spitting it in your face, you asking me to let you demonstrate what a punch of yours at 10% feels like, me tumbling and collapsing as your fist hits the centre of my chest like a battering ram, you ch0keholding me until my tears show you that you need to let go, me rolling on to my back with my legs spread wide allowing you to do whatever you want with me.

We spend the last minutes of this night desperately fucking on your bed, burning off the last bouts of energy, finding our way back to each other. Finally, we surrender and roll onto our backs. My eyes find yours. This time both our smiles are genuine.

Edited 10 hours ago by jinxed