Sherri put her keys away as she opened the door to the spare room. It was her drawing-room, her sanctuary. Here she would crank the music, melt into her art, and forget about the troubles of her life.
Tonight was an especially troubling night. Today was her brother’s funeral. David was four years younger than her and her only sibling. She lost her kid brother. Tonight there would be whiskey.
She turned on the music, its loud rock ‘n roll playing through the Bluetooth speaker. She poured herself a double shot of whiskey and kicked it back with a fit of almost vicious anger.
As the whiskey settled into her mind, Sherri’s thoughts wandered to the secrets David and she kept for each other. He was the only one who knew all of hers, her dark secrets. And now, he was gone and with him, someone whom she could rely on.
The night slowly drifted as she drank; her lids grew heavy, and soon she fell into a drunken slumber. Dreams were fitful as she tossed in the wooden chair next to her desk. Some came from fear, others from hope, all blending into a nightmarish hellscape.
Sometime after midnight, Sherri’s husband awoke her. Mike shook her shoulder and called her back from the world of dreams. Between tear-streaked blinking fits, eyes blurred with liquor, she looked at him.
Mike was taller than average but not overly so. His frame was built to accommodate the slightly extra weight around his belly, so Mike looked more filled out than fat. Underlying muscles, hidden from view, gave Mike the appearance of a larger man. Sandy blonde hair streaked with lines of grey belied his age.
Mike helped her up, getting her to a wobbly half-standing position. She straightened herself out on her own and looked into his aqua-blue eyes. She found only concern, like that of pity or other such dismissiveness. Anger sparked in her.
“Take me,” she breathed at him.
“You’re drunk and need to go to bed, Sherri,” came his reply.
The anger flared to dangerous levels.
“Be a fucking man!” she shouted through slurred speech.
Mike turned, moving back to the door. It was too much; the shame of Sherri’s secret burned in her like a hellfire. For as long as Sherri had known Mike, he was passive, wishy-washy, and apologetic. She loved him so much but, sometimes, she wished he would grow a spine.
The anger, the shame, the guilt at what she had done – what had been done to her, all came boiling over in that instant. Without thinking, she lashed out, arm swinging in a wild arc, crashing into Mike’s face.
Her full-on slap left crimson on his cheek. He stared at her bewildered. “BE A GODDAMN MAN!” Sherri shouted in defiance. Tears flowing freely as the pain in her heart grew.
There was a pause – a moment where she looked at his eyes, and he stared back into her brown abyss. Then she saw it. The light caught his eyes, flaring a greenish hue to their normal blue; it was as if a switch flicked on.
Sherri had only a moment to recognize the change before she was tossed like a ragdoll into the wall. Her breath left her, and her eyes threatened to shut as she watched in horror as Mike pounced.
His right hand grabbed her hair tight in a fist and drew her face close to his. His lips found hers, and he kissed her. The savagery and malevolent nature overtook her. His teeth bit deep into her lips, down her neck, and across her shoulder, leaving red welts behind.
Fear quickly gave way to instinct and lust. Her hunger denied for so long grew like the start of a bonfire. Her hands ripped away his nightshirt, buttons scattering to the four corners. Sherri wound her fingers up along his neck and shoulders and clawed with animalistic desire. Red weels puffed up against his throat as her nails went to work on his skin.
Mike was not slowing down. With his free hand, he tore the front of Sherri’s nightgown, ripping it to tatters in seconds. His teeth were diving down to her bare breasts, gnashing and biting along the way, each time leaving welts of passion against her milky skin. In the heat of the moment, Sherri’s nipples stood stiff against his onslaught. Pain mixed with urgent ecstasy ripped through her body.
Sherri wrapped her hands around his waist, desperately tugging Mike’s flannel bottoms to the floor.
Belying his nature, Mike picked Sherri up and dropped her hard onto the drawing table, her unprotected supple rear clapping hard against the surface.
Mike brought his hand up again and grabbed Sherri by the throat, not enough to choke, just to dominate. Sherri, in turn, grabbed Mike’s hair, yanking him down towards her crotch, threatening to face-fuck him, with or without his permission.
Mike obliged and set to work tearing at her clit with lips, tongue, and teeth. Darting his tongue and free fingers into and out of Sherri’s hole, Sherri’s juices seeped down onto the table.
Sherri ground her hips into him, biting her lips with every touch of his teeth, one hand digging into his shoulder the other tugging furiously at her nipples.
“FUCKING OWN ME!” she bellowed, the heat in her boiling to a climax.
Mike stood up, his cock erect, and positioned at her entrance. He slammed into her, penetrating her with no mercy. The juices making sloshing sounds as he relentlessly pushed in and out of her. Sherri wrapped her legs around him, drawing him closer as she brought both arms to hold him tight. Nails embedded in his skin.
Mike leaned in and kissed her, raw lustful, vengeful, and dominant. Sherri fought back, kissing him forcefully, drawing his head to hers.
It may have been moments or years but, just as quickly as it started, Mike’s body slammed home, and he let out a yell as he tensed. Sherri felt him inside her; the wave was too much. The air left her lungs in one overarching scream, her body shuddered, and lights danced through her vision.
Sherri collapsed into Mike’s arms, breathless, heart racing, blood pounding in her ears.
That night, as she drifted off, her last thought was the comfort of knowing she was not alone anymore.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/ov4ti7/the_secret_mf_rough