Proceed at your own risk. Do NOT read if you are squeamish or an avid feminist.
Note: I do not condone violence toward women. This story just entertains a scenario inspired by The Confessions.
The following Wentasy involves actor Wentworth Miller. It is the product of imagination intended for pure fun and does not lay any claim to reality.
“I said: stop! Stop and pull to the side,” he deadpans.
You pull to the side and turn off the engine. “What’s wrong?” you ask tentatively.
“Give me the keys,” he brushes you off harshly. “Get out!”
“What are you doing? I was driving?”
“Not anymore. I’m sick of you letting all the bastards get in front.”
“But this car was tailgating!” you try to defend yourself.
“I’m just sick of your shitty driving, that is,” he shouts back his face frozen in a menacing expression.
“Whatever,” you sigh. “Go on. You know how to do things right and I don’t know a thing. You know everything there’s to know.”
“Shut up, you stupid goose!” he slaps his hand on the wheel.
“Oh, that is it now!?” you shriek. “What happened to all the feminism talk? Or maybe that was just for the thesis and smooth-talking to people. Frankly, I feel sorry for all the naïve girls fainting at the thought of you. They should come see you now. They should see what an anal arrogant asshole you are!”
He pushes the gas pedal and the car speeds up.
“What are you doing now?” you yelp. “You wanna kills us both?”
His face betrays no reaction. He stares across in the distance not a muscle twitching on his face.
You barely hold it until you get home. The moment the wheels stop turning you storm out of the car and through the front door hurling your purse on the table and heading to the bedroom to change out of the beautiful plum satin dress you put on for meeting his family.
“Wait, wait!” he yells after you and with two leaps catches up with you grabbing your hair and twirling you around.
“I haven’t finished,” he hisses in your face. “I haven’t started actually.”
His lower jaw tenses as he squints his eyes: “What was that ‘We don’t eat spanakopita’ crap? Who’s ‘we’? When you talk, missy,” he tilts his head and looks at you menacingly, “Speak about yourself only. I have a brain to speak about myself.”
“Oh, yeah,” you screech back. “I kinda noticed that. ‘She likes going out to parties too much.’ I heard you say that! I did! And then your mom’s gonna love me after that! It’s not enough that the whole family scrutinized me but you had to carp about me too. Thanks for the support, mister. Now let go of my hair!”
You pounce on his chest in seething rage. “Is that how you thank me for sticking up with you?”
“Aye, missy! Easy!” he grabs up your wrists and holds them tightly. A sneering smile distorts his face.
“Don’t provoke me ‘cause you may regret it,” he chuckles spitefully as you try to wiggle out of his tight grip.
“Get out,” you hiss in his face, still undaunted. “Go back to your shithole place.”
“Missy,” he leans uncomfortably in your face. “You mind your three holes and let me worry about mine, okay?”
He pushes you back and forces your shoulders against the wall pinning your hands above your head while maintaining a tight grip on your wrists.
“You wanna say something now?” He asks snarkily. His beautiful turquoise eyes turn grey with rage.
“No,” you grit back trying to maintain a cool demeanor. “But I see that when you run out of the power of arguments, you resort to the arguments of power. Good shot, Mr. Miller. Let’s see if you can beat a girl senseless. You are pathetic.”
He slowly releases the grip of your hands and steps back. You look up triumphant and sigh. Then overcome with resentment, you slap him across the face.
His reaction is lighting-fast. He grabs your hands again and throws you against the wall.
“Tell me again who’s pathetic here?” he scoffs in your face. “’Oh, I’m not going out in public with you because your female fans will tear me to pieces.’” He mocks you in a drawling voice pressing your hands into the wall.
“You are hurting me,” you whisper softly clutched into the iron grip of his fingers.
He tilts his head bringing his face close to your neck. His lips brush against your neck and the teeth gently bite at your shoulder. “You don’t know the definition of that word yet, missy,” he mumbles ominously.
“This stops right here! Get off me!” you yell writhing in his grip. In response his bite becomes more intense until you feel a twitching pain spreading along your shoulder blade. You droop your shoulder trying to avoid the assault. He withdraws and moves in your face.
“You hurt?” he asks with a wicked half-smile. “I thought you are tougher than that. Pain, like beauty, is in the eye of the beholder.”
His lips move close to yours as he sticks out his tongue tracing the curve of your mouth. The warm sensation relaxes you a bit and you close your eyes. His mouth closes over your upper lip as he sucks it vigorously. Then he moves over to your lower lip and his teeth graze along the surface. Unexpectedly, his teeth sink into the fleshy mound of your lower lip and you let out a gasp.
You reason that the best defense is offense so you dive in clasping at his mouth and pushing your tongue inside. His tongue deftly fends off yours as he drives you back to your turf. He alternates intense sucking and biting until you both are out of breath.
He withdraws slightly and you feel the warm trickle of blood running down your chin. You look wide-eyed at the realization and notice his face is smeared with blood too. He leans over again and you close your eyes resigned to the assault. But instead you feel him gently licking the blood off your face. You struggle with the revolting and at the same time slightly arousing sensation.
He stops and looks intensely in your eyes. Then without warning he grabs you and tossing you over the shoulder carries you to the bedroom. Once there, he throws you across the wide bed and jumps over you.
He pins your shoulders down with one hand and dives in for your neck trailing down nibbles toward your chest. His other hand pulls the straps of your dress down until you are half exposed. His moth reaches the inner edge of your breast and the teeth trace the fold until they reach your nipple. You let out a moan of surprise and pain as his teeth close over the erect tip.
“Please…you are hurting me,” you whisper. But this time it’s not only pain. There’s a strangely satisfying sensation that rivets your body.
His hands move across your waist as he pulls the dress down. The fabric tears apart under his forceful fingers.
“Don’t…that dress costs...” You lose track mid-sentence as his tongue circles around your stomach tickling the sensitive side of your ribs. In a surprise movement that amazes even you, you arch backwards lifting your back off the bed and bringing it closer to him.
His hands slip under your butt cheeks as he lifts them in the air and his lips trail along the dip between your pelvis and lower abdomen. You feel your arms finally free from restraint but you are unable to move. Slowly you lift them from above your head and touch his shoulders. Your fingers dig into his flesh scratching his back through the shirt as he approaches your thighs.
“If you bite me down there, I’ll kick you,” you breathe in a daze.
He doesn’t change pace to acknowledge your words. His fingers pry your labia open and you feel the warm wetness of his saliva mix with your juices. Your nails sink in his back as you let out a moan. Then you feel a spasm and the sharpness of teeth on your clitoris.
“Bastard! I told you!” you shriek as you try to fend him off with your legs.
You attempt to jump off the bed but his hands reach out and pull you back. You fight back ferociously but he overpowers you grabbing your arms and holding you tightly.
You look up, your eyes welled up: “Please, it’s not funny anymore!”
“Ah, it was supposed to be funny?” he gives a wry smile. “Too late...I kinda missed that part.”
You lunge forward biting his hand firmly.
“Aye, bitch! Easy!” he yelps.
You turn away ready to run but he yanks you throwing you down face-wise, his fingers tangled in your hair.
“You want worse?” he hisses in your ear. “You’ll get worse.”
With one hand holding your neck firmly down, he reaches down along the divide of your ass. His long fingers probe the small hole as you cringe in the sheets.
“You do that and you are a dead man,” you say firmly.
“Before or after?” he looks up unapologetically.
You sniffle and your eyes mist as you feel his thick member probing the back entrance.
“That huuuurts…” you wail through tears.
In a flash, you feel it abruptly switch position and ram inside several inches below.
Several hours later, you lay down exhausted breathing heavily. You pull the sheets to your chin and look warily.
“That was rough,” you whisper quietly.
“Yeah,” his voice rings hollow as he stares into the ceiling. He reaches to the side and takes a pack of cigarettes. He picks out one and fumbles for a lighter.
“You aren’t gonna smoke in bed,” you stretch out a hand and toss out the cigarette from his hand.
He drops on the pillow exasperated and exhales. His hands nervously twitch empty and he turns toward you.
“You got freaked out, didn’t you?” he asks his fingers caressing your cheek. “You thought I’d do it.”
“I don’t know what to think of you anymore,” you reply sulking.
“Come here,” he pulls you toward him. “I’m not gonna hurt you now.”
You hesitate for a moment and then slip into the warm embrace of his arms nuzzling in his chest. He runs his fingers through your disheveled hard as he kisses your forehead.
“We may do it next time,” he says enigmatically. “Just because we started with the missionary doesn’t mean we’ll end there.”<\lj-cut>