The hardest 48 hours of my life [FM]

So one thing folks don’t talk about with rough sex is that the physical realities create barriers. When I was regularly having rough sex my family was pretty concerned for me, and my injuries were a little hard to explain.

*”Don’t worry, Dad. I just broke my nose during rough sex,” doesn’t roll off the tongue.”*

Breaks are also pretty essential, but that’s easier said than done. When you’re screwing constantly and living with someone you’re attracted to, it’s hard to take an honest break for physical recovery.

Once we had been fucking like crazy and when he pulled out I heard him say, “Oh fuck.”

“What?” I asked. I was still in post-orgasm haze.

“You’re bleeding.”

“That’s impossible.”

I realize the natural conclusion is I had just started my period, but I did not have a cycle at the time.

*I wasn’t eating enough. Don’t be like young V. That’s very unhealthy.*

As it turns out, it was possible. He had literally fucked me until I was bleeding. He felt HORRIBLE about it too, even though it was clearly not his fault.

He pulled me into the shower and started very gently washing me. “I’m an ass. I’m so sorry, V.”

*K was weird. He’d degrade me and basically beat me up in bed, but he hated to see me in pain when we weren’t in that space and was incredibly respectful as a friend. He loved leaving handprints on me, but everything else really freaked him out. Once I passed out when we were fucking and it really messed him up for days. He put everything on his shoulders, including things that weren’t inherently sexual. Once a dude on the street groped me me and I was genuinely afraid K was going to kill him. It was one of the few times he really scared me.*

“Why?” I almost laughed. I still didn’t fully understand his hang ups.

“Dude, look at yourself.”

I was not in great shape. I was pretty black and blue with bite marks, handprints, and rope burn around my wrists.

“It doesn’t hurt,” I shrugged.

“We have to take to break. A REAL break, V.”

My heart sank. At the time I had a full-blown addiction (*yes, I was later actually diagnosed*).

“How long?”

“At least 48 hours. You need to heal.”

“We can just be more vanilla. It’s not a big deal.”

He got on his knees and started washing between my legs. He looked up at me almost amused. “You can’t have vanilla sex. I can have vanilla sex, but every time we’ve tried you switch halfway through and get rough.”

“That’s not true.”

“I once said you looked beautiful and you bit my lip until it bled.”

“I know my limits. I’m fine.”

“You don’t know your limits actually. The single most terrifying thing about fucking you is that you have no concept of your physical limitations. I’ve seen you cry from pain and beg me to keep going.”

I shrugged. “I know what I like.”

“Exactly. That’s why we have to take a break.”

This began the longest 48 hours of my life. He got hard when he was washing me and I tried to give him a hand job. He immediately safe worded me so I backed off, but it was difficult.

We played a round of chess which was a mistake. We had gotten way too sexual during that game to the point my vagina had a straight Pavlov reaction when I took his queen. I was objectively better than him at chess, and he would often punish me after for “humiliating him in the defeat.”

It was fun.

He watched me squirm and I guess I shot him *that* look because he shook his head. “You might as well let me win because we’re not making this dirty.”

“I think we have to stop playing.”

“Are you serious?”

“I’m so wet and tight right now that I’m physically uncomfortable. Like, if you tried to fuck me you’d have to finger me for a solid ten minutes before you could even fit inside of me.”

He paused for a second and then let his head fall to the table and slammed the wood with his fist. “Fuuuuuck.”

“Sorry. I’m just being honest.”

“I know you are. That’s the problem.”

“Did you just get hard?”

He shot me a look of genuine, actual annoyance. “Stop baiting me.”

“It’s not intentional. I genuinely think I’ve forgotten how to have a normal conversation with you.”

“What’s a non-sexual thing we do?”

“Nothing,” I sighed. “Everything we do turns to sex. Unless we’re drinking.”

*K refused to fuck me if either of us were drunk because he worried my pain tolerance was too high when my senses were slowed.*

“We have a solution then.”

So we got drunk. I think this is one of the few times I attempted to outdrink him. That’s not a pursuit I would recommend.

The problem was, our conversation turned to past sex partners which didn’t exactly relieve the tension.

“What’s the longest you’ve ever gone without sex?” I asked when we were a few drinks in.

“Like two months.”

“While you were on deployment.”

He smiled. “Viola, I didn’t go without sex when I was deployed.”

“Because you fucked your friend! I knew it! I don’t care that you fuck men. I think it’s weird you don’t talk about it. You deflect every time I bring it up.”

I thought he’d get mad but he was more amused. “I think you like that I’ve done it. You have a weird fixation.”

“No, I’m just bisexual. It’s a connection.”

“Given the choice I would always rather fuck a woman. I don’t think I’m bi.”

“I don’t think you’re straight either.”

“How do you fuck women? Like logistically. Do you just go down for days?”

I sighed. “Only men ask me that question. Dicks aren’t the ultimate magical element of sex.”

He winked at me. “I don’t know. Mine does a cool magic trick where it makes you beg for it.”

“You’re so full of yourself.”

“You’re wet right now.”

“Yeah.”

“You get wet so easy. It’s hot. I’ve actually never met anyone as physically responsive to you. That’s why you’re fun to play with. I literally can just play with you body and watch it react.”

“You want to watch it now? Because this conversation is pretty hot.”

“I definitely want it, but you know we’re not going to.”

I was getting flustered but I couldn’t stop. “Can I ask you something personal?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“When did you start fucking this rough?”

“It’s not a story I’m particularly proud of. My ex cheated on me. She said it was purely physical. Like, her sexual needs weren’t being met and implied I was too gentle during sex. I’m not sure if I took that as a challenge or if I genuinely just hated her, but we got really rough after that. As it turns out, I’m pretty fucking good at it.”

“Oh, that explains your… Issues.”

“I don’t think anything can fully explain my issues, but I suppose it’s part of it. When did you start this? You’ve fucked a lot, right? I can just tell.”

“Being with women made me creative. Like you have to think outside the whole ‘penis in vagina’ narrative.”

“Right? People like us are always good at sex.”

“You mean bi people?”

“Shut up, V.”

Luckily, we got so drunk we passed out without trying to fuck each other but the real problem came the following day. It took us all of two hours. We were trying to read and I finally shut my book and told him I had to get off.

“I promise this is not me being a dom right now, but you absolutely cannot get off.”

“I have to.”

“Your clit is too sore. I saw it yesterday when we were fucking. You winced every time I touched you.”

“Yeah, a certain person edged me with a vibrator for an hour.”

“Viola, I’m not kidding. Your body legitimately needs a break.”

“Are you getting off to this?”

He smiled. “Ok, I’m not getting off at all. My dick is bruised. I’m fact, everything in that general region is bruised and… Fuck. Just take my word for it.”

“And what?”

“It’s embarrassing.”

“Aren’t you the one who says if we can’t talk openly we can’t do that sex act.”

“Ok! Geez. My ass is bleeding, ok?”

“Seriously?”

“We probably should have used more lube when you pegged me.” I bursted out laughing and so did he. “V, you have fingerprints on your throat. Blue fingerprints. You get it, right? I’m not being a jerk. We’re going to kill each other if we keep going. Your vagina was literally bleeding. If you get off you’re just going to want sex more. I know you.”

“Jesus, fine, but we have to get out of this house.”

Weirdly enough, it actually was wonderful to get out. It was also kind of a nice day. Frustrating? Yes. But sex was off the table and it forced us to actually act like relatively normal humans. Ironically, I think this was the only day where I genuinely felt like we were “together.” The sex got in the way of our intimacy.

Night was hard though.

We stayed fully clothed, but when we crawled into bed the tension heightened. Unless we were drunk, we AWAYS fucked before bed.

He kissed me goodnight which turned into a make out session. Which turned into him climbing on top of me and grinding into me through his boxers.

“Fuck,” I whispered as my stomach did a flip.

He immediately got off and put his face in his hands. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s ok.”

“It’s really hard not to fuck you. It’s like a switch in my brain I can’t turn off.”

“18 hours left.”

He laughed. “You’re counting?”

“You’re not?”

We fell asleep and I had a dream I was on all fours and he was railing me into oblivion. I woke up seconds before climax, gasping for air.

“Are you ok?” He asked.

“I had a sex dream.”

“Was I good?”

“I didn’t say it was about you.”

He smiled. “It was about me.”

“Fine. You had me on all fours.”

His leg was jiggling as he was ringing out his hands.

*You know, like an addict.*

“Can we just fuck?” He blurted out.

“No! We’ve come so far! We have to
Make it to 4:00.”

“Fine. What are we going to do all day?”

We baked a cake. Nope, that’s not a euphemism, we watched a movie and then baked a damn cake. The problem is, we both sucked at baking. It took us way too long and it did not end up right. It was, in fact, disgusting.

We were so disgusted by it, that we started laughing and didn’t even notice we were awfully close to that 48 hour mark.

I finally took a handful and smashed some of it into his face. He did the same and quickly moved some to my cleavage. I doubled over laughing because I took a bite and it was horrible.

“We can use it for… Other things,” he finally laughed.

“What’d you have in mind?” I asked. He pointed to the clock and I smiled. “We made it.”

He swept me up onto the counter and wrapped my legs around him. He pulled my tank top down so my breasts were spilling over and smashed more cake into them. When he started licking it off he laughed and said this method of consumption was the only way to make it bearable.

He pushed himself against me and heart sped up. I felt the familiar pulse in between my legs and kept pushing him toward me. He was hard and I could feel him rubbing against me until he tore away just long enough to take his shirt off.

He rubbed against me again and I moaned into his mouth. I pulled him toward me and bit his lip. He responded by taking a handful of my hair and pulling it so my neck was exposed. He nibbled it gently and the pull between my legs heightened. I was building fast….

A little too fast.

Before I even knew what was happening, another moan slipped out of my mouth. This one was long and louder. When he started grinding harder I unraveled and felt the room spin slightly. I tried to tell him to stop but it was too late.

I had a fucking orgasm.

It was obvious too. I screamed and had to pull his hair as I shook and almost lost balance.

He stopped and looked a little too pleased with himself. “Wow.”

I immediately turned red. “Dude, stop.”

“Don’t be embarrassed. I came from dry humping… In high school once.”

I tried to hit him, but he caught my hand and smiled. He wrapped my arms around his neck and lifted me off the counter with my legs still around him.

He carried me to the bedroom like that. “It’s my turn,” he laughed.

“Are you going to come from dry humping then?”

“No, but I’m going to come from you sucking me off.”

He did. Then we fucked five times that night. We were not quite at our normal level of debauchery but I walked away with a few handprints.

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/ybu4f0/the_hardest_48_hours_of_my_life_fm