Going into Overdrive

Monica had always liked sex.

For Monica, more often than not, sex was a gratifying, spontaneous, unpredictable, primal escape from the organized, rigid order that was her life. A much-needed respite from the tight-fisted grip of control that she exerted over everything in her purview. When she was having sex, especially really good sex, her mind would stop busying itself with her myriad of commitments and duties as a chef, sister, and best friend. Work schedules, doctor appointments, bills, debt, chores, everyone else's problems; they all washed away as her pulse quickened and obscured the outside world, letting her lose herself in the hot fog of passion.

In those moments when she gave into her basest of desires, and focused on her own need for physical satisfaction, she would clear her mind and surrender herself to all of the tactile sensations that she craved. That unmistakable feeling of being filled up by someone who was the perfect size, the sensation of warmth that reverberated across her body as she was penetrated, the way she stretched perfectly to accommodate her partner as she welcomed him eagerly into her, the rush of blood that pumped through her veins as her pounding heart seemed to beat in time, syncing up once they found their rhythm. All the tension she carried around with her from her job, the burden she felt from all of her responsibilities, her doubts, her fears, her insecurities, they were all replaced with euphoria as she was overcome by the overwhelming sensation of fullness. It was as if she had this lock, and someone else had the key, and when they opened it, sheer waves of pleasure took over her entire being and washed everything else away.

Sex wasn't always perfect though, and some of her partners had been downright disappointing at times, leaving her feeling frustrated as they struggled to connect physically. Yet, even then, once she had become fully in tune with what her body needed, she would be able to spur most of them on to bring her close enough to completion so she could at least finish herself off. After all, Monica hated to waste her time, and not being able to squeeze some kind of satisfaction out of a romp in the sack would have definitely been a waste of her time. It was not lost on her that her need to make each encounter pay off in some way was driven by her sheer force of will to dominate every perceived competition, including sex. Her fierce need to be the best, to strive for perfection, helped her turn even the most lackluster of partners into a serviceable lover.

She always enjoyed the first few months of a burgeoning relationship. It provided her with a new sexual counterpart to devour. The way it felt to revel in discovery, how every moment together was devoted to pure physical lust, compelled her to tackle sex with even greater enthusiasm. Every minute alone with a new man she was attracted to would be devoted to kissing, touching, tasting, and exploring each other's body. Knowing that they could hardly contain themselves as they stripped each other down and gave into their desires. Each of them trying to learn new ways to please each other while everything was fresh and exciting. Although sometimes, unfortunately, there would be some awkward moments as they fumbled a bit in their attempts to become better acquainted with each other's body. It would frustrate Monica to no end, being with someone she so desperately desired, yet not being capable of surrendering completely to the rush of excitement as they fused together into one. Those early attempts would normally be overlooked once they finally learned what worked best for each other as they began to achieve total satisfaction.

Although, for Monica to truly unlock pleasure and fulfillment, sex needed to include an emotional component. She had her best sex with the men that she had loved, or at the very least, the ones that she felt a deep connection with. To be confident in the knowledge that they were both there to please each other as much as they were there to derive their own gratification, pushed her over the edge. It bestowed upon her almost limitless energy that she could channel into those heightened moments when they were both almost ready to finish. Leaving them in a crumpled, sweaty mess. Yet, even with those she loved, there were nights when she was still left wanting more, and complete satisfaction escaped her.

Up until now, Monica thought she knew all there was to know about herself physically, and all the ways she could derive pleasure from sex. She was certain, as she slowly crept towards thirty, that she had mastered the art, but somehow, inexplicably, she was wrong. Ever since London, sex was different. It was better. More fulfilling. More exciting. It had become rich, like a sweet slice of decadent chocolate cake. Suddenly, for the first time, there was this amazing blend of everything she liked the most about sex happening at one. It was as if finally, she had discovered everything she ever wanted sex to be.

It was new and exciting. It was familiar and fit perfectly every time. There was no fumbling. Instead, she felt an instant and deeper connection than she had ever had with any other partner. One that could only exist between two people who had ten years to bond on this emotionally intimate level that until now, she had no idea even existed. Sex now was always so very satisfying, with some of the most intense orgasms she had ever experienced.

Sex was the only thing she could think about ever since that first night they were together. She suddenly found every encounter with him arousing, no matter how mundane, as if she were some horny teenager. Flashes of heat would bounce across her body and her knees would wobble just from seeing him burst through her apartment door. When he stood before her, she could sense how intense her stare was becoming as she practically burned his clothes off of him with her eyes. Her lips would grow dry, and she would be compelled to lick them slowly, wetting them in anticipation. Her hips, her breasts, her thighs, every inch of her started to tingle as she craved to be touched by him. Her entire body felt sensitive to even his slightest touch; just the breeze that played across her chest as he took her hand and rushed her to her bedroom made her quiver. His breath on her skin as he leaned in to kiss her neck drove her wild with desire. By the time their lips touched, she was already ruined.

Monica had liked sex very much up until this point in her life. Yet, after London, she has learned, that now she loved sex. She craved sex. She needed sex. It had never been like this before, and it was all Chandler's fault.

That stupid, immature, ridiculously annoying, gloating idiot, Chandler.

If he wasn't so stupid, she would be over at his apartment right now instead of cleaning her bathroom for the second time tonight.

If he wasn't so immature, she would have started to rip his clothes off the second he opened the door.

If he were not so ridiculously annoying, she'd have already shoved him down on his bed as she prepared to devour him whole.

If he hadn't been gloating like an idiot, they'd be preparing themselves for a second round right now, even as they tried to catch their breath while the sweat from their love making cooled on their skin.

Every fiber of her being has been pushing her to let it go, ignore how foolish he was acting, walk across the hall, and jump on top of him. But then, that would mean she gave in. That she let him off the hook. That he won. That she lost.

Monica knew she could not lose. Not this one. She needed Chandler to sweat for a little bit longer. He needed to be punished, and not in the good way like last week when they took turns spanking each other with a spatula. No. She would resist her urges and stay strong. This cold war between them, ever since he leapt up on her table to do his ridiculous dance, had to last a little longer.

So, Monica was going to scrub the bathroom floor again. And again, and even a fourth time if she had to. Anything to keep her mind distracted from all the amazing sex she was being deprived of as she froze him out. And while making the grout shine and the pipes sparkle would have been a decent substitute in the past, she no longer found it nearly as satisfying as it would be if she were underneath him right now. Feeling his weight on her as they moaned into each other mouths the moment she welcomed him inside her. All of these wonderful pleasures they were missing out on because he had to be a complete idiot.

Yet, she knew eventually she would forgive him, because even though Chandler was an idiot, he was her idiot.