Not rude, not hard to deal with, not against the grain. Not contrary in any way.
Friendly, polite, he smiles when we are talking, laughs easily, on the surface he is as cool and smooth as a pebble at the bottom of a creek.
Yet, he is not polished. I have never seen him in anything but work boots, his hands are as rough as his mind. Even his dick has escaped, it is as nature created it, uncut, fuck you world, intact.
His touch can be tender as he caresses my face, moves to my hair. Yet that hand grabs my hair and pulls my mouth from his cock, brings my face to his to make demands. Of my mouth, my body, my mind.
Those fingers are rough as he shoves them in my pussy, his voice is rough in my ear, growling, claiming this as his.
He eyes are fierce when he is inside me, fucking me, claiming me, telling me just how it is going to be. No one but a rough boy would hold me down, fuck me so hard I have to explain tender spots for days.
He is rough when he opens my blouse, not bothering to unhook my bra, just shoves it up over my tits, his mouth rough as he sucks and licks and, yes, bites.
“I will dominate you.” Now that is a rough declaration. And I try to be rough when I assert that, no he will not. But he does. When do it when he says, I suck him on demand, he eats my pussy without asking. He fucks me at his will and pleasure.
Hard. Loud. Rough.
Who is this woman who allows this? I am not submissive, I do not permit anyone to dictate to me, or rule me or subjugate me, it is simply not done. But then, he didn’t ask, he just did it, he is simply this way. Rough.
Fuck me, my rough boy.