Angry sex

I am not, by nature, an angry person. I can be impatient and crabby and cutting, and all those other words that basically mean ‘a bit of a prick’, but I think I’m too much of a control freak – especially where my emotions are concerned – to succumb to the sort of unfettered rage that seems to consume some people on a regular basis.

However, some days are just so shitty that even though I’m tense and frustrated more than boiling mad, angry sex is the only thing that feels like it would help. Angry sex takes two different forms: there’s the kind where your (probably mutual) anger is directed at the other person, and most of us know how unbearably hot that can be; but there’s also the sort of cathartic, cleansing sex you have when something unrelated to your partner has properly fucked you off. That’s the kind which essentially acts as an alternative to punching a wall or, worse, another person, and it’s the kind I need right now.

What does it involve? Well, in my case it brings out whatever intermittent dominant streak I have. I got changed out of my suit a few minutes ago, and when I slid my belt out through its loops I had a sudden urge to curl it around my hand and give someone a fairly energetic beating. Or, better still, to offer her the prospect of that beating while getting her to crawl over to me on all fours and suck my cock, arse in the air, ready and eager to be turned various shades of scarlet.

When I flung my shirt in the general direction of the laundry bag, I thought about ripping someone’s top up over her shoulders, and roughly squeezing her tits. I’d just pull her bra down, rather than off, and make her wait like that, exposed, desperate to be touched more, lower, harder. I’d want her to be wearing make-up that I could ruin, leaving her lipstick smeared around her mouth and her mascara smudged. I’d make sure that when she left a couple of hours later, there were sooty prints all over the room from it, evidence of where she’d been shoved against a wall, or restrained on all fours with her face pressed into the pillow.

I’m getting more worked-up just typing this, and thinking about the noise that kind of sex makes. The grunts and the moans, and the little sighs of pain or pleasure, yes, but it’s more than that. It’s the smacks and slaps of every description, from the palm of my hand or the leather of my belt on soft, tender skin, to the way our bodies collide forcibly each time she pushes back to meet my urgent, desperate thrusts. Sometimes I’m very quiet during sex, but when I’m feeling angry and aggressive I want to talk, as if channelling that rage into a steady stream of filth will help flush it out of my system more quickly. It’s not the kind of dominance where I want to tease or train my partner; less the dominance of denial than it is the desire to fuck someone into whimpering, mewling submission.

Generally, I’m not a fan of degradation or humiliation, but this is probably as close as I get. There’s still a connection with my partner, but I want it to be clear that her pleasure is entirely at my discretion; it exists as something for me to trigger if I please, but basically the main priority is fucking her so hard that her legs will shake as she walks home afterwards, counting her bruises…

…because that’s what I need. That rough, sweaty, exhausting fuck, which leaves my mind clear and calm. Her role is to respond to my demands, take what I give her, and make sure I’m satisfied at the end of it.

The reason why I’m writing about that kind of sex tonight rather than having it is that you can’t do it with just anyone. It requires trust, and a certain level of intimacy; it’s sex you have with someone you know and like, rather than sex with someone you bring home from a club. Like any D/S activity, you have to be careful to place any aggression or force within a clearly-understood and agreed context – both of you have to know that while you’re not ‘playing’, neither are you actually behaving in a violent way towards the other person. There are limits and boundaries that you both understand and respect.

This evening, I will take out my anger on a good steak and a bottle of red wine, albeit after pacing furiously along the streets of Islington for half an hour. The other thing though – the other thing is fun to think about, at least…