Femdom Fantasy: The Hostile Takeover

I am spoiling for a fight. For a feud. For a fuck.

Photo by Erik Lucatero on Unsplash

Rage.

It makes me see red. I don’t know where it’s coming from, what underground source of anger that’s been simmering away inside me for god knows how long has suddenly boiled over, erupting like Krakatoa, making my whole body vibrate.

I am spoiling for a fight. For a feud. For a fuck. An angry, aggressive hostility-fuck, full of teeth and nails and fists and pulling of hair. I am filled with primal hunger, my animal need clawing at my insides.

If he senses my heightened state, he doesn’t say. He simply potters around the kitchen, making tea, pinching chocolate digestive biscuits out of the tin, and spying on the neighbours from the window. I watch him standing there, slack-jawed and in mustard-stained grey sweatpants that haven’t been washed in weeks, scratching his balls and dropping biscuit crumbs all over my clean kitchen counter.

“Must you do that?” I fume, feeling my pulse quicken.

He turns around and looks at me in surprise, his mouth hanging half-open and chocolate smeared around his lips. I can see the dark toffee- coloured sludge of semi-masticated biscuit in his gaping mouth. How attractive. Nice to know you’re still making an effort, you arse, I think to myself. I scrunch up a damp tea-towel in my tensed hands and throw it at him. It leaves a mark on his sweats. Great, another fucking stain to add to the bunch.

“Wha?”

“Stand there like a doofus with your hand down the front of your trousers, eating all the fucking biscuits! I just cleaned this kitchen and you saunter in and mess it all up again!”

“Woah.” He lifts his hands, holding them open in front of his chest in a gesture of submission. “Alright, sorry ma’am.”

He smirks and gives a mock- curtsy.

“Fuck you,” I mutter as I take a sponge and wipe up what is, in fact, only one or two crumbs, and is probably not worth the amount of invective I am now spewing at him. But screw it, it’s the principle of the thing.

As I scurry around him, cleaning up all the non-existent mess I’ve accused him of making, I can feel him watching me, that…