Watching A Film

Disclaimer: Written for a friend who wished a consent/no-consent scenario with some specific characteristics.

Evening after dinner, we wished to watch a film and I was excited to see one complex-boring-mind squishing film, the ones I usually like. At least you manage to cuddle against me in the sofa, your head resting on my lap, my arm over your body.

You feel good and warm, you take my hand and you put it on your bust, pressing it , holding it. I keep watching the film with great attention, but my hand cops one of your breasts, slowly pressing and releasing it, in rythm with your breathing.

I slide my hand behind your shirt. The welcoming warmth of your soft skin is a delicacy to the touch. I pass from one breast to the other, my thumb slowly drawing circles around your nipples. You feel so confortable that you hum, you close your eyes in bliss and comfort. You curl yourself and you hold my hand against your body, ever feeling, fondling, kindly groping your breautiful tits.

The film is becoming annoyingly complex. You have lost the thread and you don’t know who is who or what they are doing, not that you care. My other hand brushes kindly your hair, stroking your head. You float, abandoning yourself to the sleeping urges, closing your eyes, tugging yourself against my warmth.

Suddenly, a forceful impact on your eye makes you see stars; you shout of surprise and freeze for a moment trying to understand what had happened. A second impact with a thudding sound on your same eye, sending a painful sting throughout your skull. You hold your eye with your hand while you stare at me with murdering angriness. I keep staring at the screen, with a smudgy smile, holding you in place with my arm. My hand gropes, clenches, claws one of your breasts. You protest and try to stand up, but I forcely keep you down with my arm and my weight. You struggle and you hit me, but you know that it doesn’t hurt me. You bite my arm, damn, my skin is thick, but you put your effort and sink deep your teeth.

A third punch on your already swelling eye makes you desist. Tears begin to fill your eyes. Obviously if you keep struggling and making me angry I will shut your eye closed with more punches, you think. I can deal much more pain than what you could ever deal to me. You feel powerless, being pinned down in that position without me even having to make an effort.

You curl into yourself and cry. I have to rewind the film some minutes back because with all the struggling and the cuss you didn’t allow me to listen an important part.

You cover your eye with your hand. You feel it throbbing. You press it with your hand to keep the swelling and pain on check. You cannot stop meeping.

I keep fondling your breasts while I am not paying attention to you. The film is really good and I love it. You tremble of anger, locked with my arm, frustrated. Thousands of thoughts run through your mind, hatred, compassion, excitation and humiliation, all in a complex wrecking ball which sends shivers through your body.

Would you taunt me and tell me that you could take more? Would you say that you hate me, how I dare? Would you kiss me fondly and passionately? Would you slap and fight me knowing that you would lose?

Your meeping starts to annoy me, I had to increase the volume on the tv. My hand leaves your breasts and I put a finger on your pretty lips as demanding silence.

You lick and suck my finger. You bite it catiously, tenderly. I have released you from my grip, but you feel confort. Your eye throbs, and it will be bruised the next day, but you feel strangely satisfied, as if nothing had happened. My other hand keeps stroking your hair. You are falling asleep again.

You raise your eyes towards me and you see me smiling.

I am liking this film very much.