by Shannon Peil
I'll never forget that look of surprise the first time I hit you. That first honest to god backhand I gave you that immediately curled your knees to your chest and caused your eyes to water. Those big brown eyes dropped a single, fat tear drown your cheek only to run over that puffy set of lips now tensed in defiance almost as an immediate reaction. Your body straightened up, adopted a defensive posture quickly, but your face belied all of this. Whether it was shock, or terror, or pure enjoyment that caused you to react the way you did, I still don't know. Actually, since we don't speak anymore - I'm sure I'll never know. What I do know is that the look of fear you gave me with those wide eyes made my cock harder than it had ever been, and any pretense of regret or sympathy for what I had done was choked back by lust the second I felt that power with you cringing below me. So when I cupped my hand over your protesting mouth and used the other to pry apart your knees, I found you excited, and that only made everything easier.
It seems like every woman I've ever honestly talked to has been honest and forthcoming about their rape fantasies. When the subject comes up with guys however, we lie. Lie until the end that we couldn't possibly. Something about admitting a pure desire for ownership and dominance of a woman has been ingrained in us to be wrong for so long that we're actively trying to convince ourselves that the very thought of it makes us an awful, despicable man. A psychopath.
I'm not sure if I am despicable. I have done a lot of things I regret, sure. I have lied, cheated, I have acted out of malice. I have done a lot of things that I don't feel proud of, but I think that is the definition of a person. A psychopath does not feel remorse, they can understand the definition of wrong or right, but does not actually experience the emotions. I feel. I'm normal.
Yet in the quiet, dark side of my mind - your face belongs in the pillows, suffering. Not because I want you to hurt, but because I know you enjoyed it. You enjoyed it as much as I did, being taken and degraded and fucked into submission. How could something that causes both people pleasure be wrong? Oh, and what are you doing tomorrow?
Shannon Peil gets published some times and rejected others. He edits for people who actually know what they're doing
SSF: If you could speak to any inanimate object, which would you choose?
Shannon: I would ask the old oak dresser I've had since childhood exactly HOW MANY TIMES it has witnessed me masturbate. I can't even come up with a figure. I wonder if it is disappointed in me.