The Cheeky Shag: Pain & Pleasure
© Benjamin Skinner
By Baylee McKeel
People never saw it coming. She was petite, and they always assumed size was the only thing that mattered. Like her ex always said, it’s more about the motor than the size of the boat.
She was always glared at during the night, men sizing her up, taking in the curve of her hips and her back, tracing the line of her spine up to her shoulders, her collarbone down to her breasts, her stomach, and stopping to contemplate the shape beneath her skirt.
It was the accidental eye contact that did it. He took it as a green light.
He started off with a charming, “hey baby”. When she ignored him he pushed her up against the brick wall “Oh you think you’re tough huh? Think you could handle this? This turn you on?” He pressed up against her, forcing his hand under her skirt.
“No, but this might” she replied, and a look of surprised excitement flashed across his face. It didn’t last long.
She brought her knee up with as much force as she could, straight into that bastard’s balls. He shriveled backward; she wasn’t letting him go that easy. Her elbow collided with his cheekbone, knee with chin, and he collapsed on the ground. She smirked, an erotic animosity building inside of her“Oh yea, that’s just how I like it.”
“You bitch” he was struggling to get the words through the blood spouting from his mouth. But the goddamn idiot was trying to stand, to put his hands on her again.
“Think you can handle more? You know I like it rough” she teased, watching the vein in his forehead throbbing with anger, agony, and a shattering ego. When he finally got to his feet, stumbling, bleeding, and still spraying degrading misogynist comments, he wasn’t upright for long. She was enjoying it now; she rarely got to take her frustrations out on anything other than a punching bag. The feeling was invigorating, empowering, arousing. She could feel the adrenaline coursing through her, warming her thigh with a sweeping kick, her arm as fist connected with cheekbone, knuckles as they cracked against his face.
He was finally silent. She was vibrating, pulsating, a warmth radiating from her broken hand, her entire body trembling with a satiated desire. A desire she would satisfy herself again later that night, remembering the intoxicating feeling of flesh on flesh, sliding her hand up her thigh and using her broken fingers to melt pain with pleasure.
