Control
Sometimes he went slowly. He was soft and gentle. He whispered sweet things into her ear that made her shiver all over. And sometimes he was rough. No words, no touching. It was days such as this when she knew he needed her most. These were the days when he felt taken over and needed some semblance of control and if that's what she could give him she would. Today was one of those days.
She stood in front of the floor length mirror scrutinizing her figure still draped in her Constance uniform. He entered unannounced and wordlessly made his way toward her. The look in his eye sent a tingle down her spine. He grabbed her from behind and pressed her hard into the wall, his lips violently seeking hers. She reciprocated knowing this was what he needed, but also aware that in some dark corner of her mind this was what she craved. Vehemently he pushed her skirt up, sliding her panties to the side, and slammed into her hard. Once, twice, and she was gone, lost in him. Her eyes screwed shut, her body writhing against his as they came together. He pulled out of her and quickly zipped his pants. He left as wordlessly as he had come. She stood against the wall convulsing with aftershocks, embarrassed by the fact that when he was roughest she came the hardest. He would be back she knew, to make sweet slow love to her because that afternoon she had yet again ceded control for him. The wicked games they did play.