We were visiting his parents for Christmas, and we'd had a huge fight. His folks were out running errands, his brother and sister off catching up with hometown friends. I had been trying to clamp down on my irritation all day, halfway successfully. But then he opened his mouth, and things went downhill fast.
"I knew Angie was still into me," he bragged, pacing around the kitchen as I finished the dinner dishes. Angie was an ex of his we'd run into the night before at the dive bar he'd insisted on "just stopping by" when we were out with his brother, a little visit for "old times' sake." Aw, honey, we'll just be there for one drink, just a couple of minutes, blah blah. Yeah, sure. We ended up there for nearly three hours. A heavily made-up blond with a tank top way too small for her D-cup breasts -- bra-less, naturally -- had immediately bounced over to us and, completely ignoring my existence (and my undisguised glare), rubbed up against both of the men. Then she'd singled out mine, fluttering her fake eyelashes up at him, giggling about the things they'd done in high school. In detail. Back row at the movie theater, two hours in the hot tub, men's bathroom at the pizza place, all the classics. He leaned against the kitchen table and laughed. "Did you see the way she kept grinding up against me? I couldn't beat her off with a stick."
"How do you know?" I stacked the last plate in the draining board and spun around, leaning back against the sink and crossing my arms over my chest. He hadn't been finished, I could tell by the way his brows drew down as he looked at me, but I couldn't pass up the opportunity to respond to that comment. I raised my eyebrows. "You didn't bother trying to get rid of her. You just stood there grinning like an idiot and letting her rub all over you like a cat in heat."
At that moment, the front door opened and his parents came in, his father carrying two shopping bags. They both started stamping their snowy boots on the doormat, and his mother called out, "Hey, you two, better hide your eyes! We've got a few presents here, and they're not quite wrapped yet." Both laughing, she and her husband worked their boots off, intending to leave them in the front hall to dry. I glared at their son, who was shooting me a warning look, and I didn't move an inch.
"Well?" I said it loudly. No one could mistake my tone for anything but furious. "Don't you have anything to say? You let that bitch drape herself all over you, with me standing right there!" All noises from the hallway stopped abruptly. I knew his parents would be standing there frozen, unsure what to do or where to go. I didn't turn to look. "Well?"
"Christa," he whispered harshly, his brow furrowed, his blue eyes narrowed. He only used my name like that when I was "pushing my limits," as he liked to put it, but I just crossed my arms over my chest and raised an eyebrow. "This isn't the time or--"
"You know what," I cut in, my voice rising, sharpening, "I don't give a flying fuck whether your precious parents--hey! Goddammit!" He picked me up, throwing the front half of me up and right over his shoulder, and carried me right past his parents and out of the room, up the stairs to his old bedroom, the one we shared whenever we stayed with Mother and Dad. I struggled and shrieked the whole way, until he kicked the door shut behind us and threw me down onto the bed. "You bastard! How dare you just--"
He pulled his hand back and slapped me hard across the face. I didn't make a sound, only drew in a big breath and sobbed the air out, putting my palm to my cheek. It felt hot. He'd never slapped me so hard before; I knew it would leave a mark, a handprint. I stared at him.
"You'll stay up here tonight. I don't want to see you downstairs. I will explain to my parents, and tomorrow, after you get a good night's sleep and stop being a childish idiot," he bit off the words, "you will apologize to them." He spoke through gritted teeth, and towered over me where I sat on the bed. I brushed a lock of hair out of my eyes. He stared at me for another moment, then abruptly turned and left the room without another word.
I heard him and his parents, and later his brother and sister, moving around and talking downstairs, but I didn't leave the room. He didn't come back upstairs for hours, until everyone else had gone to bed. When he did, I was already in pajama pants and a pj tank top, pretending to sleep, pressed as close to the wall as I could get. I heard him drop his clothes on the floor, and then he slid in under the covers beside me. I gritted my teeth and waited for him to fall asleep.
An hour later, he was breathing the even, peaceful breaths of a nice deep slumber, and I still lay wide awake. He was such an asshole, such a complete jerk, and here I was lying next to him, and tomorrow I'd have to act like everything was fine. God forbid we make a scene in front of his parents. God forbid I inconvenience him with my "excessive" emotional reactions. Tomorrow, he actually expected me to apologize to precious Mother and Dad. I couldn't do it, I wouldn't do it.
The last thing I wanted was to wake him beside me, but I couldn't stop tossing and fidgeting. I froze when I felt his hand on my side, rubbing lightly over my tank top. I scrunched up as small as I could, but I was already so close to the wall that I couldn't pull away from his hand without making it clear that I was entirely awake, not just shifting in my sleep. I lay still, hoping he would roll over and leave me alone. A moment later, I felt his fingers slip under the waist of my pajama bottoms, and then he was sliding his hand under the sidestrap of my panties to rest on my hip.
I muttered incoherently and tried to push him away -- but vaguely, still faking a half-sleep. If he wasn't all that awake, he probably wouldn't even notice, and I could push his arm enough that he'd take the hand away. Believe it or not, sometimes he does all sorts of things in a state of mostly-sleep -- I've woken up to him rubbing his cock against my asshole, fingering my pussy, even playing with my clit (which he could stand to do more often while awake, if you know what I mean). So now, figuring he might well still be asleep, I twisted my hips away from him as much as I could, sliding down at the same time, so that the most natural movement he could make would be to pull his hand up and out of my pajamas. Problem solved.
I realized he was quite awake when, instead, he reached around with his other hand and used both to pull me by the hips firmly back against his hard penis. The head poked at my ass through my pajama bottoms, and then he began sliding the fabric down to give himself full access to my bottom.
"No," I hissed, giving up the pretense of sleep, shoving him away with both hands. I could barely stand to look at him. I sure as hell wasn't going to let him fuck me, not tonight. Not this week, not at his precious parents' house. He'd be lucky if he got any before the new year, that bastard! I pushed at him once more, making sure he was staying on his side of the bed. "Just leave me alone." I fixed my clothes, tugging everything back where it was supposed to be, and cuddled up to the wall again.
It's amazing how quickly he can man-handle me around. With barely time to blink, I was yanked back toward the middle of the bed, and then he had me on my stomach, pinning me down with the weight of his body. He moved in that tense, tight way he does when he's hard and ready to get some, and, my face shoved down into the pillow, I realized he meant to fuck me whether I wanted it or not. I struggled, testing arms and legs and torso, but I couldn't move any part of my body enough to free myself or twist into a more defensible position. He was too much bigger and stronger than me. I turned my face so that I could speak to him, convince him to let me up. A physical battle would never go my way, but I could try to talk him around, make him realize he shouldn't be pushing this.