Green Means Harder

They had the rules on the fridge and the cushion on the floor. Ruth put the cushion down because her knees were older than the fantasy and she refused to ruin a good night over tile. She was forty-two. Jon was forty. They had been married nine years. The rough thing had started as a joke in a hotel and become a negotiated hour they booked like a meeting: safeword red, slow-down yellow, green if she wanted him meaner. No closed fists. No marks on the face. Hair was allowed. Spanking was allowed. He could hold her down. She could tell him to fuck her like he was angry, and he would, and he would stop the second the word changed.

Tonight she wanted the hour.

"Green to start," she said, already naked, hair tied because she liked the pull. "I want you to use me. Check in. Don't fade out."

Jon kissed her once, ordinary, then grabbed the tie and bent her over the table. The first spanks were warm-ups. The next were not. His hand cracked across her arse until she was up on her toes and cursing, skin hot, cunt wet enough that she could feel it when she shifted. He kicked her feet wider. Two fingers shoved into her, rude, curling, and he spanked her again while they were in her.

"Colour?"

"Green."

He pulled his fingers out and pushed his cock in, one mean thrust. Ruth's breath left her. He held the hair tie and fucked her against the table edge, hard enough to thud, his other hand coming down on her arse in time. She was loud. He liked her loud. He told her so, voice rough, called her his, told her to take it, and she told him harder and meant it.

Jon pulled out, turned her, and put her on her knees on the cushion. He fed her his cock, wet from her, and held her head. Not a trap. A grip. She sucked him sloppy, spit on her chin, and tapped his thigh twice, their old more-signal. He fucked her mouth until her eyes watered and then backed off when she tapped once for ease. Yellow lived in the hands too.

"On the bed," he said. "All fours. Head down."

She went. He followed, grabbed her hips, and slammed back in. The pace was ugly in the way she had asked for, skin to skin, his balls hitting her, one hand snagging the tie and arching her. He reached under and rubbed her clit, rough circles, and Ruth came with a shout, cunt clamping, arms giving out. Jon fucked her through it, pinned her flat, and kept going until the oversensitivity tipped back into heat.

"Green," she gasped, before he could ask. "Green, don't stop, come in me."

He did, buried, a broken noise against her shoulder, pulsing deep. He stayed on her, weight careful, mouth at her ear asking colour again because that was the rule even after. She said green, then laughed, then said yellow for the weight. He eased off, stayed inside, and kissed the mark his teeth had left on her shoulder, one they had agreed could be there.

Round two was her on top only until she got bored of gentle. She told him to put her on her back and hold her wrists. He did, pinned them to the mattress, and fucked up into her while she wrapped her legs and urged him on. He spat on her tits. She told him to do it again. He slapped the side of her breast, light, checked her face, and did it harder when she nodded. Ruth came a second time with her wrists held and his thumb on her clit, swearing his name.

They stopped when she said enough, not red, just done. Jon got water. He rubbed the heat out of her arse with his palm while they lay there, come cooling on her thigh, both of them grinning like idiots.

"Fridge list still accurate?" he asked.

"Add the hair tie," Ruth said. "And buy a thicker cushion. My knees filed a complaint."

He kissed her wrist, where the grip had been, and the kiss was ordinary again. That was the part she liked as much as the rest. The hour ended. The marriage did not.

She made him read the list back while she was still naked, because that was how they kept it from sliding. Spanking, yes. Hair, yes. Wrists held, yes. Cunt slaps only with eye contact. No closed fists. No throat squeeze, a hand could rest there and that was all. Come inside, yes, she was sure. Red stops even mid thrust. Jon said each one without joking, then added the cushion and the hair tie in his own handwriting while she watched.

Ruth's arse still throbbed when she stood to get water. She liked the throb. She liked more that he noticed her wince and did not apologise for a thing they had both ordered. In the kitchen she bent for a glass and he stepped in behind her, cock soft against her, mouth on her neck.

"Not another round," she said. "Yellow for the night. Stay there anyway."

He stayed. Hands on the counter either side of her, not grabbing. She pushed her hips back once, a small filthy thank you, and felt him twitch. They ate toast standing up. She dripped a little on her own thigh and wiped it with her thumb and sucked the thumb clean while he watched, eyes dark, obedient to the yellow.

"Saturday," she said. "Same list. I want you to fuck my mouth until I tap, then put me on the table again. And you say green back when I say it. I like hearing it."

"Green," he said, to practise.

Ruth smiled, sore and satisfied, and turned off the kitchen light with his come still drying on her skin.