After sending Pari home, I went to bed. I needed to sleep. I let you sleep in the armchair. There was no reason to wake you up after what had been a very exhausting day for you, nor was there any reason to tuck you in. Too much tenderness was counterproductive. 

I wake up when you were running around the apartment looking for Pari. It is very late at night. 

“Where is she?” you ask angrily as you stand over the bed. An imposing figure of muscle and rage.

“How should I know?” I ask. “Gone home, I think.” I watch with satisfaction as your anger grows. 

“Are you kidding me? Why did you let her go?!!” You are almost shouting, and I can see it boiling inside you. 

“What do you think I should have done? Tie her up here and keep her prisoner forever? Why did you let her go?” Your face turns red, and I can see you struggling for self-control. 

“What if she runs to the cops?! We raped her! Do you realize that?” Now you’re really shouting. 

“We didn’t rape her. You raped her. And she’s not going to the police. Now let me sleep,” I say, turning away from you in bed. 

That’s too much for you. You jump onto the bed, turn me onto my back, and your hand grabs my neck. It’s a fantastic feeling. I’m instantly wet and hope that you squeeze.

The idea of you cutting off my air and fucking me hard overwhelms me for a second. You see the lust in my eyes, and it makes you even angrier.

You worry about the consequences of the rape, and I want to fuck.