M for sub F. Things I like to think about...

[spiration]

After dinner we leave the dishes in the sink. They can be taken care of later. I meander into the bedroom, you following me. Then begins a routine of sorts, which has been repeated so many times that I have long ago lost count of its occurrences. But though routine in one sense, the endless variations upon it consistently bring unexpected nuances and pleasure.

I recline on the bed, while you crouch down next to me.

“So, you didn’t even get around to telling me about your day, honey.” You smile your bewitching smile and slowly rub the top of my thigh.

“Eh, y’know. It sucked. I’m kinda tired. Glad this week is almost over. I bet you are too.”

“Mm, poor baby,” you reply, making a pouty face. “Let me make it better for you.” Before I can even respond, you’ve already managed to unfasten my belt, and are busying yourself unbuttoning and unzipping my trousers. I guess practice really does make perfect.

I look down at you bent over me and take in your face and your ever-charming smile that is beaming back and forth now between my crotch and my admiring gaze. “Mmmf…” A pleased, garbled sigh is all I can seem to get out in the moment.

Like magic you have effortlessly caused seemingly all of the blood to rush below my waist, and my hard cock springs out of the now unzipped pants. “Mmm,” you say. (if in fact “mmm’ is something one “says” and not simply moans) Your practiced fingers reach down and begin to slowly, softly tug on my shaft, massaging my cock and coaxing out some spots of precum. Another “mmm” finds its way out of you, and your fingers at once move to the head of my cock, lightly playing along the glans and gingerly spreading the trickled-out wetness as if you are applying suntan oil to an already burnt forearm. You study the glistening results fascinatedly. “What a beautiful cock. I love this cock so much…” You lick your fingers, tasting some of my wetness and lubricating them for what is to come next.

You begin to go to work somewhat more vigorously, pulling at my cock, stretching the skin of the shaft as far as it will go over the head, and then smoothing it back down, your hand gliding over the full length of my veiny hard-on, now made naughtily slick thanks to the mix of your fresh girlspit and my precum.

“Oh fuck…”

“Does that feel good, baby? Am I making your cock feel good?”

“Oh my God…”

You continue to expertly, sensually tug on my thick, swollen member, looking at me all the while and smiling.

“Fuck yes. Milk that cock, baby. That’s it. Oh, fuck yeah…”

You then change strategies, putting your head down and taking me into your little mouth. You begin by licking around my head and shaft, and are soon slurping away at me, bobbing your head up and down, sucking your owner, dutifully pleasuring him with your slutmouth.

It’s so perfect that I almost hate to interrupt you, but then, it’s my job to be demanding and to teach you how to serve me. “Hold on, stop for a moment. I need you to take your shirt off.”

 

[spiration]

Some of my fantasies are on the sleazier side. I don’t know if I actually would want them to take place in real life – the results might end up being some mixture of comical, depressing and disappointing – or magnitudes more disastrous than that. However, I do like feeling free to talk about things. The nastier, rawer side of human sexuality.

What would it be like to take you into the video booth of an adult bookstore? You’d be dressed up unbelievably sluttily, in proper whorewear. A skirt that doesn’t seem to be doing a very good job at covering up the entirety of your ass. Some heels that are rarely seen outside of a strip club or a porn flick. Makeup that might have to be scraped off at the end of the night with a crowbar. Once in the booth I’d make you take your shirt off. I’d kiss you tenderly and tell you how much I love you, then kiss you a little more lustfully, enjoying the thrill of our tongues hungrily seeking out one another... and then I would whisper in your ear, telling you to unzip my pants and to suck me. Only I wouldn't say it in so many words; rather I'd use one of those key phrases that we've worked out, that whenever I say it, you know just what to do. In this case the phrase being, "You need to get to work," which in our private language translates into, "drop whatever you're doing, get on your knees and orally service me." You would of course obey, because the thrill of being controlled by me and doing what you’re told to do is all but too much to pass up.

As your mind races with the rush of adrenaline and the potent daze of subspace that I seem to effortlessly send you into, you recall how I’ve never done anything to hurt you or to put you in harm’s way during our little private sessions. ‘Maybe this is okay,” you reason. “We love each other, we're not hurting anyone, and after all, I can stop at any time I want to. He tells me this over and over again, we’ve talked about it so much ... but still, I’ve never yet asked to stop doing anything. Maybe I am being weird and stubborn, but I'm not about to stop now. Besides … there is something really kind of hot about how fucked-up this is. My God. I’ve been fucking wet since dressing up like this, since before we even left the house. I only just wish I had my collar on, so that I could feel even more like I belong to him, that feeling I need to feel, that I am his special whore.”

All of these thoughts rush through your head as the moaning of fucking from the echoing porn loops fills the cramped booth, and strange odors pervade your senses. “Is that cum? Or is it some kind of cleaning agent? And is that moaning coming from a movie playing in an adjacent booth, or is it from real people? God, just even being in this space makes me feel like such a dirty slut, let alone how I am dressed or what I am about to do…”

You begin to suck me, but what if I stop you after a minute or so, and gesture over to the wall, where a (presumably) stranger’s cock is sticking through a gloryhole. Would I make you touch it? Would I make you jerk it off? Would I make you suck it? What thoughts would run through your mind? “For fuck’s sake, what would people at work think if they knew that I was dressed like this, in this seediest of environments, sucking off a stranger? I’m such a cumwhore…”

Maybe doing this would be really depressing and awful. Or maybe it would be kind of amazing. But I think it would definitely be fun to talk about. Seems like a nice conversation to have while lying in bed next to each other, mutually masturbating, with me sticking some fingers in your mouth every so often for emphasis or by way of illustration. We'd be bantering back and forth, me with my cock out, you playing with your pretty little clit, and at strategic moments I would feed you my fingers to suck, encouraging you, “that’s right, show me how you’d suck that stranger’s cock…”

 

[spiration]

We all have our limits. Thank goodness for that. But sometimes it’s fun to play with boundaries. After all, isn't that a huge part of what sex is all about?

A commonly expressed limit is the pastime so goofily and euphemistically known as watersports. Personally, I’ve never engaged in that sort of thing. But I do fantasize about it here and there. Taking you into the bathroom, having you stand in the tub in your underwear, (meanwhile, I'd be wearing a suit and tie!) and making you pee your panties. Of course you’d have to be looking at me in the eyes the whole time. And then afterwards I’d have you kneel down, and I’d unzip my pants and lovingly piss on you, all over you. In your hair, on your face, on your tongue, on your shoulders, on your tits, and of course your pussy. Marking my property in that primal way, the same way that I mark you with my cum, or with a spanking or bitemarks.

I want to make you feel as dirty as possible, to do things that you feel you would never be able to talk about in polite company, to do things that mark out our secret time together, to make you feel as vulnerable as possible, to make you FEEL as much as possible. I want your service, I want your tears, I want your cum. I want you to feel totally alive. I want you to feel totally fucked, totally used, totally everything. I want to teach you to be the best little whore ever.

Anyway, he point of this torturous infomercial is that I am looking for someone open-minded, who is more than willing to talk about anything and everything in the sexual realm, who thrives on honesty and openness, who has a burning need to be submissive, to please, to be controlled, to be put in her place. If you don’t get off on being humiliated (strictly bedroom) then don’t bother applying. If you don’t want to be called every name in the book during sex, then don’t bother responding. If you don’t like having fun and experimenting, then don’t bother responding. Private message me if you think you’d like to chat and possibly get to know each other some. I am good-looking, personable and all that crap; presumably you are too. I am in my forties, presumably you are of legal age. We can talk about the rest later.

 

[spiration]

It shocks you how sweet and gentle I am during the day. how easygoing and laid-back. Where does it all come from, then, the forceful, demanding side that loves and practically lives to control you? Does the contrast make your panties wet, the surprise factor, the suddenness or gradualness of change in my demeanor, and the subsequent energy behind my demands? Where does that force come from? You've never heard me talk like that to anyone before. Where does the violence come from? The man who can hardly bring himself to swat a fly is now spanking you and slapping you hard enough that the sound of my hand against your gorgeous flesh is now echoing off the walls. The man who is polite to a fault and so soft-spoken is now calling you a "stupid little bitch", and all this while your legs are spread for him, taking in his cock.

Who else would he talk to this way? Who else would ever get the privilege of seeing this raw side of him, this primal aggression channeled through a lust for your body, soul, and mind. You have so captivated and captured him, that now everything is on the table. Everything. He can no longer hold back the energies inside him that are habitually covered over by concessions to social dictates. He is here, with his cock, wanting to fuck you, to control you, to slap you, to spit on you, to make you his special little whore.

I want to have the key to your cunt, to the tingling between your legs that only grows more delicious and irresistible with each instruction I give you, each verbal command, each instant my fingers slide inside of your underwear and dip into your needy cunt, brushing over the folds of your lips, finding all of your slime, all of your nectar, your essence, teasing your little button, playing with the hood, being inside your pants, between your legs, having my way with you.

Your body longs to be controlled, your mind wants to be told what to do, your heart wants to please and to satisfy.

My legs shaking the first time you make me come, my deep guttural moans overlapping your pinched hiccuping sighs and torrent of little-girl moans. Possessing you, controlling you, owning you, finally. The weight of my body on yours, my chest meeting yours, ready to give you everything. Never having fucked anyone so desirable before, never having desired anyone so much before, it becomes hard to see straight. The world is turning white, so much dizziness from your scent, your presence, your sheer love, the you. I feel like I am partaking of the ultimate, lost to time, rabid with violent desire, I only want to pay attention to what's you for every succeeding moment of my life.

 

[levelup]

Yeah all that but I'm imagining that your dressed up as kermet the frog and her as Myra Hindley and she's got two rashers of bacon for earrings.

Now that would be a turn on

 

[spiration]

Yeah all that but I'm imagining that your dressed up as kermet the frog and her as Myra Hindley and she's got two rashers of bacon for earrings.

Now that would be a turn on

Would appreciate it if you people would keep any references to Muppet knockoffs, serial killers, and cured meats out of this thread.

Thank you.

 

[spiration]

bump. .

 

[spiration]

Have you been neglecting that tight little space between your legs? I can't help feeling that your pouty little clit needs some attention. Even more to the point, I think that you are forgetting your formal duties as my little cumslut -- being a perfect whore for my cock. We both know that it makes your panties soaked to think of being filled up by me, to hear my voice call you all the filthy names that you need to hear while you're playing with yourself or being stuffed, so don't be needlessly stubborn.

Lying down on the bed over there for me, so that I can inspect you. The windows are open, and you can feel the air rushing over your asscheeks. What a naughty girl you are, completely and totally exposed, and because you know perfectly well that you would do just about anything within the job description of serving my cock... even if you're not quite prepared to admit it to yourself yet.

Hmm ... do we have to formalize it like that? Do I need to put down on paper how your job is to do your utmost with your hands, mouth or other parts to make my cock feel good and to make me come at least once a day? And do I need to specify the punishment that is waiting for you if you fail to get me off before bedtime? Do I really need to write out in letters how you are to be dressed (or undressed) between the hours of 9:30 and 11:00 every night? You should fucking know all of that by now, it should have been committed to your memory a long time ago.

Fuck. All of this is making me want to give you a spanking. Get over here, that's right, no dignity for you, baby, lie across my lap, that's a good girl, that's a good little slut. Yes, I fully realize that my erection is pressing up against your tummy. Mmm, let me pull these panties down. I will conveniently ignore the fact that these aren't the ones that I requested you to wear today. No, I quite honestly don't care that you're on your period. When I tell you to do something, you fucking do it. That's how it works in our bedroom. Mmm, this perfect ass needs to be spanked and slapped nice and hard. Slowly at first, and then I will probably end up losing control after some moments. That's right, let me hear those delicious moans. We both know that you crave this, so it's doubly funny when you pretend as if you don't. Mmm, feel my hand smacking your flesh and teaching you a lesson. I only hope you keep misbehaving on the regular so that this ritual continues on a weekly basis...

 

[spiration]

Memory (Or more rightly, a vision?? The details change so much ... Sometimes you have a t-shirt on, other times you are completely naked. Sometimes your hair is pulled back, sometimes it is hanging free. Sometimes you are hairy down there, sometimes freshly shaven, and other times with just the right amount of naughty stubble present) of you being on top of me, aggressively, hornily trying to get yourself off while sliding over my shaft, which has been turned into something of an obscene lubed-up pole that your body’s lusts seem to have become almost troublingly obsessed with in the last few moments. You have a sort of dazed, lazy grin on your face, almost as if our carnal pasttimes of the evening have been enough to send you off into some privileged space of inebriation. There is sweat dripping off of you; it’s a hot Indian summer night and your soft and intensely fuckable body is shimmering in places with a light trace of perspiration that just makes me want you more. The bed is shaking slightly with our movements and adding the occasional background furniture groan to our loud people-ones.

You’re grinding against me now, as I play with your nipples and guide your hips so that you can be fucked a little deeper. It’s so rewarding to see you on the verge of losing control like this, letting an almost animalistic side take over which I don't get to see quite often enough. Are you the same person that I can’t help occasionally teasing for being what to me, anyway, seems a little uptight in daily life? Are you the same person who carries herself with a vaguely regal bearing, and who is now sitting atop of my cock, straddled over me, trying to get as much pleasure from my dick as possible, in an almost desperately hungry fashion, like an adolescent girl who has just discovered masturbation and is trying to experience as much pleasure as possible out of a fear that the mysterious and magic power granted her to make herself orgasm will just as mysteriously be taken away…

As distracted by the pleasure of your body as I am, I somehow manage to urge you on. “That’s good, that’s good, c’mon, fuck me harder. I need you to make yourself come hard for me, gooood, fuck me, fuck me and don’t let me hear you stop moaning until after you’ve recovered from coming… Mmmmm, that’s good, fuck me nice and hard … mmm, let me know when you’re going to come, because I’m going to shoot my load inside of you at the same time. Mmmm, you are so fucking hot, you're so good at making me come hard…”

Your face changes expression some, becoming more intense, more bliss-dazed, more lustful, more charged with that desirous animal energy. You’re losing all traces of self-consciousness, not caring that you’re sweating enough to soak the bedsheets, not caring what potentially embarrassing sounds or words come out of you, but simply lost in the moment, lost in having me inside of you, being filled by me, feeling that delicious and perfect connection. When the evening began you probably never anticipated getting such a workout, but now here you are, breathing hard like you’ve pushed yourself too hard during a run, bouncing on top of this cock, moaning in such a way that I only hope the neighbors don’t assume that I am torturing you. Your face goes from almost pained-seeming grimace, as if you are concentrating on answering a quiz show problem with only 10 seconds to go, to blissful fulfillment, while some even more urgent panting and moaning escapes from you, as I quickly realize that you have completely forgotten to tell me when you were coming. Oh well, there will be time to punish you for that later...

 

[spiration]

It’s so easy for two people to make each other feel good. It simply involves a little bit of chemistry, some reasonable level of attraction.

My body fits with yours so perfectly. It’s impossible to explain how good it feels, how good you feel. I love being inside of you, doing you, taking you, filling you up. My cock stuffed inside of you, who has time to take underwear off?.. A hand free to play with your tits, to massage them or pinch your nipples as I move in and out of you. Feeling your breath quicken, sometimes shallower, at other times deeper, your voice registering more hoarsely as you moan as if you are encouraging me, requesting me, maybe even begging me non-verbally to fuck you a little harder, a little faster, a little deeper.

Your tits are so soft, with your nipples which seem almost like they are beckoning me, stiff and maybe even somewhat swollen, aching for me to play with them, to touch them until your the length of your body starts to feel dramatic waves of pleasure and release. Your body is so soft underneath me, nearly too perfect. I haven’t felt this connected to someone in just about as long as I can remember. Having someone feel as hungry for me as I am for them was worth waiting all this time for. I don’t get to express myself this way with others. I almost feel like we are melded to each other at moments, as I hungrily kiss you, feeling like we can’t get enough of each other’s tongues, each other’s mouths… I’ve never felt so blissful just hearing and feeling someone else’s breath before. My mouth is searching, needing to become conversant with your earlobes, your shoulders, your neck.

Your body has transformed into something deliciously x-rated, impossibly appealing to all of my senses. With each thrust inside you, I feel a greater need and urgency to pump you full of my thick seed, as my body starts to feel that it is glowing with a delicious bliss that seems to partake of the same glow that radiates from you on a daily basis. What a meeting, something that I forgot about, except in distant dreams and other voicings soon pushed aside by the rational mind. I want to fill you up with EVERYTHING, to give you EVERYTHING … it’s not within my power to hold back anymore. Maybe as you shriek while coming, you will feel at that moment like I own you, like you are possessed, that for several moments you can be released from the prison of flesh and tedious accompanying thoughts, and surrender to ecstasy proper, some dissolution of the frustrating limitations of the workaday world. Pure pleasure, and a reason to enjoy and be grateful for being human, flaws and all

 

[spiration]

Last night I dreamt that I was asleep in the room next to you. You came in and leaned down next to me, gently shaking me awake.

"Hey, wake up. I need to show you something."

"Huh?" I grunted, feeling the fog that can only come from a late-afternoon nap, and wondering if I had managed to slobber all over the sleeve of my shirt and the pillow.

"I need to show you something, I want to talk to you about something. C'mon, you can sleep later!"

"Ugh, alright, alright ... is there coffee? I think I need coffee..."

You grabbed me by the arm and mock-dragged me up from the couch as I cooperated with your efforts. Meanwhile my brain tried to push through its post-nap sludge as I wondered what was so pressing that would lead you to wake me up from the paradise of a lazy Sunday nap.

"Oh my-- who is dying? What is all this about??" I had launched myself into the bathroom and began to splash some water on my face so that I could spring back into the waking world more quickly. "Huh?" I gently demanded above the din of the faucet spraying, having not yet received a response from you.

I dried off my face with a towel, gave myself a once-over in the mirror, and then grabbed my toothbrush and hurriedly scrubbed my teeth, thinking that the mild physical effort involved would aid in penetrating my fog.

When I was done with my half-somnambulant abbreviated hygiene ritual I emerged into the next room to find you sitting on the edge of the bed, with a look that combined an incredibly sweet smile and a hint of sheepishness.

"I'm sorry... You looked so peaceful passed out on the couch!"

"Ha, it's okay, I really needed to get up anyway. But what is all of this about?"

"It's ... we haven't had sex this entire weekend! And, we've both been working so much lately, and running around doing stuff that I feel like we've barely been close at all lately. We sleep and eat together, and that's about it! I hate to do this, but I think we might have to start being one of those couples that specifically marks out time for having sex ... I mean, if things keep going like this."

"Yeah. I ... y'know, I would say I had been thinking the same thing, but to be honest I've been so busy that I haven't even been able to think about sex ... Yeah, this sucks. It shouldn't be this way. Um, well, if that's what we have to do, then let's do it!"

Your face, which had dropped into serious mode during your little speech now lit up once more with a look of relief and even some girlish excitement. "Okay, great! Well, anyway that's why I woke you up, hahaha..."

"So that we could have this conversation?" I lazily shuffled towards you and leaned over you so that our foreheads were touching. I grinned sillily, still feeling loopy from the aftereffects of my nap.

"No ... to have SEX," you stage-whispered, suppressing a giggle. The cute sexy mild hoarseness of your voice somehow came through even in a whisper. It reminded me of how I would sometimes lose track of what you were saying during phone conversations because I would become so distracted by the fascinating timbre of your voice.

"Ohhhhhhh ... okay. Well, I'm afraid I'm too old for that, I --"

"SHUT UP, don't make me beat you..."

"You just don't understand the plight of the aged, do you? Have some compassion!"

You got up from the bed, shaking your head and rolling your eyes as you walked towards the closet where most of your clothes and shoes lived. "Aaaanyway, here -- I need you to pick one of these." You grabbed two identical-looking but differently colored extremely short skirts from somewhere in the labyrinth of your wardrobe collection. "Black or purple? Oh and here..." You produced two dark-colored bras in your other hand, one lacy and one solid. "Pick!"

"Why is this making me think of Homeric epithets? The wine-dark sea..."

"I don't know," you said in mock-exasperation. "Probably because you are weird!.. Pick!"

"I feel like a trained monkey, or like that octopus who they prodded into picking out World Cup winners ... Okay, fine. I'll pick purple. Aaaaand lacy."

"Okay," you smiled, placing the losing items somewhere back into the jungle of fabrics and hangers and shelves and drawers. Your smile remained, waxing at once both proud and a little shy, as you pulled down the yoga pants you had been wearing, and stepped out of them with a touch of awkward cuteness, while continuing to gaze at me. "You're SURE this is the one you want?" You held it up against you somewhat theatrically, obscuring my view of your tangerine-colored panties. "It's REALLY short," you said with a naughty lilt to your voice.

"Yep. Bring it on, I can handle it."

"I hope so. I bought it for you." You stepped into the skirt, staring at me all the while. "What do you think?" you asked, adjusting the waist of it somewhere below your navel.

A hint of your underwear peeked out from underneath the hem of your skirt. I felt blood rushing into various extremities as I shifted slightly in my seat at the edge of the bed and involuntarily bit my lip a little. "I think I like it. Turn around."

"Okay," you smiled, and duitfully turned around for me. You were standing up perfectly straight, but I could plainly see the bottom of your asscheeks, and the lacy trim of your panties that didn't do a much better job covering them than the skirt did.

"Lift it up."

With a hand at each side, you tugged up the tiny piece of material that was posing as a skirt. "Like this?"

"Yes. Good girl, Julie... now give each cheek a smack for me. And turn your head around, that's it, look at me while you spank yourself."

 

[spiration]

You followed my instructions duitfully, grimacing slightly with each smack.

"Turn around again, turn back around. But keep that skirt lifted up." You turned around, holding your skirt up, revealing your brightly-colored underwear. "Are you my little slut?"

"Yes, Michael. I'm your little slut. I... I --" you stuttered and looked somewhat embarrassed, breaking gaze with me for nearly the first time since our little collaboration started.

"You what?? Spit it out."

"I ... I want you to control my pussy. I want to be your slut. I want your cock to control me." "All the time," you added softly, your eyes fixed on the floor.

"Then fucking take off that t-shirt that you're wearing and put on the bra that I picked out. C'mon, this was your idea..."

You nodded adorably with mock-contrition and pulled your long-sleeve tee up over your head, revealing a grey cotton bra.

"Not only do you RUDELY wake me up but you can't even match your underwear! What is wrong with you?"

"I'm sorry ... I won't let it happen again..."

"You really do need to be punished." You grinned slightly and took off the grey bra. I stared at your perfect tits, trying to store the image away in my memory as I always did -- how the one was slightly larger than the other, the hue and shape of your areolas, the eye-pleasing contour of them...

"Please ... yes ... please punish me. I've been waiting all week to be punished by you, Michael." You reached over for the dark lacy bra and put it on with a speed and unconscious coordination that has mystified me ever since the first time I was in the same room with a woman getting dressed.

I drank you in with my eyes -- your hair brushing against your shoulders, the clothing that you had bought with me in mind, your adorable face catching the fading rays of the late afternoon sun streaming in through the window. "Crawl over here."

"What?"

"Crawl over here! Do I have to drag you over?"

"No, no..." You dropped down to all fours, and began crawling over to the bed.

"Wait. Back up. Go back to where you started from ... Stand up again, that's it, now get down on your hands and knees again, good girl, that's it ... now crawl towards me again and say 'I'm a slut, I'm a slut" for the length of the time it takes you to get over here. No ... wait, actually, crawl over to that wall over there ... no, wait, crawl into the next room, crawl all the way to the dining room table in there, and then crawl back in here over to me, and don't stop saying 'I'm a slut'."

"Okay."

You began to do as I told you to, saying "I'm a slut I'm a slut I'm a slut I'm a slut" as if it were some perverse mantra that had been tattooed onto your brain by my injunctions. "Oh, this is perfect," I thought mischievously. "I think I have the best girlfriend in the world. No, in fact I know I do..." I grinned, watching you return into the bedroom, and felt my cock stiffen in my pants as I witnessed the fruits of my controlling you.

"I'm a slut I'm a slut I'm a slut I'm a slut..." you continued until you came to a stop before me, your head hanging down near my ankles.

"C'mere, I need to punish you. You need to be spanked for waking me up."

"Okay."

I helped you up and pulled you over me me so that you were lying face down on my lap, your tummy situated right over the hard bulge in my pants. I pulled up your skirt (which was almost unnecessary, given its brevity) and began smacking your ass over your panties, taking several seconds break between each slap, so that it became at once more deliberate and suspenseful. I altered the force of my blows somewhat arbitrarily, as you softly let out a series of delicious moans and whimpers. "Are you my slut?"

"Yesssss..."

"Do you like feeling like I own you? Do you like this?"

"Yesssss ... oh God, yessss. I need to be owned by you. Please punish me, please spank me harder..."

This time it was me obeying your orders. I began to smack your ass at a somewhat quicker pace, harder, louder, and more deliberately. I had interspersed my initial efforts with some caressing and massaging of your asscheeks, but now I simply smacked you forcefully, punishing you for deeds both real and imagined. At one point I pulled down your underwear and smacked your luscious rear end so that the sound of my hand disciplining you echoed against the walls of the bedroom. "Say what you are after each time I spank you! Say 'slut'."

Your whimpers soon took shape into the word that described what you were being for me at that moment. "Sluuut" SMACK! "sluuuut" SMACK! "Sluuut!" SMACK! "oh god ... SLUUUUT!" SMACK!!..

I grabbed you by your waist and forcefully flipped you over so that you were now lying sunny side up over me. "Are you going to be good?"

"Yesss."

"Are you sure??"

"Yessss, I'm sure. I want to be good for you. I want to obey you. I want to make you feel good. That's my job."

"Get back down on your knees in front of me."

 

[spiration]

I’ve just lubed my hand with spit. I look lustfully at your picture and wrap my hand around my throbbing shaft. It feels so amazing (does it always feel this good? Sometimes I actually can’t remember…) and sooo nice and dirty. I let out an involuntary groan and can hear more of the same cascading inside of myself. It. feels. so. fucking. good. The sensation of the slickness while my cock is being worked over makes me think of what your pussy must feel like, with your perfect juices flowing liberally so as to better receive and please my cock, as I stuff myself inside you. The space between your legs was expressly made for coaxing and encouraging all of the cum out of my tight swollen balls, in order that I can repeatedly shoot all of me deep inside of you, into your precious little fucking hole. I grow even harder and throb even more as I imagine your voice, so liquidy and effortlessly sexy, like an aural symbol of the perfection of your cunt.

I like it when you think about me like this, too, when you are so taken by thoughts of me at night that you find yourself tossing and turning, unable to sleep, until you just can’t take it anymore and you are so wet and bothered that almost in spite of yourself you feel your hand reaching down between your legs, in the interest of taking care of your pussy’s yearnings and your insistent physical needs … meanwhile saying my name to yourself as you rub around your little button and give yourself such delightful and powerfully naughty tingles. Soon you can’t help but press a finger or two inside of you … that delicious feeling of penetration, of having the boundaries of your tightness violated ever so slightly, being stretched just a bit, and masturbating fervently, almost like a teenager who has only just recently discovered how to make herself come.

Then your thoughts roam in the direction of darker desires – being controlled by me, being told EXACTLY what to do, following orders and striving to please me down to every last detail. Doesn’t the idea of giving up your will and giving me the reins, submitting, giving me provisional ownership of your body, make you feel even hotter? Does it make your breath quicken to see the look in my eye and to hear the tone of my voice when I tell you exactly what you are and what you’re expected to do? Once again your deep longing to be used, to be owned, has gotten the best of you. Why is it so hard to find someone who will fuck you like they are taking over your body for good? Who will fuck you like they MEAN it, like they are deadly serious about possessing you, making you feel owned, treasured, fucked in a way that no one has ever fucked you before?..

 

[spiration]

Bumping up this storied thread for the benefit of interested respondents...

 

[spiration]

I have had some interactions with some great people on here, but many times they drift away without warning. Such is the way of the online world, I suppose. That being said, if any of my posts here appeal to you then I would likely enjoy hearing from you.

 

[JadeNZ]

........

 

[spiration]

Thanks for letting me know, glad to hear it!



...Last night I was caught up in thoughts about the raw, primal qualities of sex. How intense it can be when we are aroused all the way, and our parts are throbbing, our breathing quickened to the point of desperate pants -- some voiced, while others only felt as hot breaths close to our ear or insistently trying to mouth fevered words against our loved one's, the lusted-after one's, lips.

How amazing it is to be there in the moment when our partner is coming, when they are fucking exploding for us. I know you love how hard you make me, how large and engorged my cock gets at the sound of your voice or the play of your hands. My stiffness brushes up against your soft tits and you feel my precum seeping out onto your bare skin. Like against like, like pressing up against like and desperately needing to mingle and interpenetrate, to fill the holes that we were put here on earth to have filled. My tongue finds your inviting mouth and seeks yours ... we press and mix with each other's essences, at-once intoxicated from our mouths finally finding each other ... again.

The purity of our mutual desires wash over us both and we fall into a space of being with, knowing each other. No world necessary, although the sound of the rain ending is a nice accompaniment to the delicious tingle that fills us up as we meet each other, enjoying each other, smiling at each other knowingly, and letting our hands do whatever they need to do. My fingers glide along your waist and then trace an imaginary pattern along your stomach. They stop at the beginning of your underwear, pausing for just a moment while I drink from your mouth and your nipples and your neck, like a traveler on a pilgrimage taking a stop to regather his senses after having been walking so inspiredly and intently under the dizzying late-morning sun.

I want to know every part of you, oh I NEED to know every part of you, every goosepimple awakened by my fingers and voice ... that soft mound that leads to your holy land, the sole holy land that ever was, that space between ... your lips where my stars go to announce themselves in brilliant recklessness...

My hands insinuate themselves underneath you, grabbing your ass, pulling you closer towards my erection and my balls. I want the perfect angle to fuck you by, I want to push into you and relentlessly let you know. I want you to know that this is what I have come here for, to fuck you, to take over every little moment of your body. I'm in-between you, on top of you, inside you. I want to fuck you so that you will understand. I want you like an angel, demonically, atavistically. I want your body, I want my hands on your ankles, I want your earlobes, I want to always be fucking you, I want, I NEED, your hair, your teeth, every stifled laugh from you, every last drop of salty sweat on your neck, every thing about you ever, I want, and I need to fuck. Right now. Hard. Without letup, until you are coming around me, disappearing and then coming back to me, surprising yourself by the noises you are making and the things that you do when you let go and give yourself up to your pleasure and your needs.

Images run through my mind -- my pure white cum dribbling over your mouth, coating your lips, mixing with your spit, as you revel in the bliss of having pleased me, having coaxed all of this energy from me. You grin satisfiedly, your panties down around your ankles, your posture at once prideful and submissive, the evidence of your successful worship of my cock coating your face and mixing with droplets of our sweat. My balls are still not sufficiently drained, and I still need you physically before we take a break to do something more quotidian. As I bask in the radiance of your loving smile, I contemplate what task to charge you with next, the next way in which I want you. My cock begins to throb again as I muse upon your utterly perfect spirit of servitude and I remember that I "own" you ... I can do anything that I want with you ... In fact, when I don't make you do things often enough, when I don't boss you around the way you love and that your cunt craves, then you become disappointed and pout. And I don't like to see you unhappy...

 

[JadeNZ]

Wow! I don't think it covers it really ......but Wow!

Thanks for letting me know, glad to hear it!



...Last night I was caught up in thoughts about the raw, primal qualities of sex. How intense it can be when we are aroused all the way, and our parts are throbbing, our breathing quickened to the point of desperate pants -- some voiced, while others only felt as hot breaths close to our ear or insistently trying to mouth fevered words against our loved one's, the lusted-after one's, lips.

How amazing it is to be there in the moment when our partner is coming, when they are fucking exploding for us. I know you love how hard you make me, how large and engorged my cock gets at the sound of your voice or the play of your hands. My stiffness brushes up against your soft tits and you feel my precum seeping out onto your bare skin. Like against like, like pressing up against like and desperately needing to mingle and interpenetrate, to fill the holes that we were put here on earth to have filled. My tongue finds your inviting mouth and seeks yours ... we press and mix with each other's essences, at-once intoxicated from our mouths finally finding each other ... again.

The purity of our mutual desires wash over us both and we fall into a space of being with, knowing each other. No world necessary, although the sound of the rain ending is a nice accompaniment to the delicious tingle that fills us up as we meet each other, enjoying each other, smiling at each other knowingly, and letting our hands do whatever they need to do. My fingers glide along your waist and then trace an imaginary pattern along your stomach. They stop at the beginning of your underwear, pausing for just a moment while I drink from your mouth and your nipples and your neck, like a traveler on a pilgrimage taking a stop to regather his senses after having been walking so inspiredly and intently under the dizzying late-morning sun.

I want to know every part of you, oh I NEED to know every part of you, every goosepimple awakened by my fingers and voice ... that soft mound that leads to your holy land, the sole holy land that ever was, that space between ... your lips where my stars go to announce themselves in brilliant recklessness...

My hands insinuate themselves underneath you, grabbing your ass, pulling you closer towards my erection and my balls. I want the perfect angle to fuck you by, I want to push into you and relentlessly let you know. I want you to know that this is what I have come here for, to fuck you, to take over every little moment of your body. I'm in-between you, on top of you, inside you. I want to fuck you so that you will understand. I want you like an angel, demonically, atavistically. I want your body, I want my hands on your ankles, I want your earlobes, I want to always be fucking you, I want, I NEED, your hair, your teeth, every stifled laugh from you, every last drop of salty sweat on your neck, every thing about you ever, I want, and I need to fuck. Right now. Hard. Without letup, until you are coming around me, disappearing and then coming back to me, surprising yourself by the noises you are making and the things that you do when you let go and give yourself up to your pleasure and your needs.

Images run through my mind -- my pure white cum dribbling over your mouth, coating your lips, mixing with your spit, as you revel in the bliss of having pleased me, having coaxed all of this energy from me. You grin satisfiedly, your panties down around your ankles, your posture at once prideful and submissive, the evidence of your successful worship of my cock coating your face and mixing with droplets of our sweat. My balls are still not sufficiently drained, and I still need you physically before we take a break to do something more quotidian. As I bask in the radiance of your loving smile, I contemplate what task to charge you with next, the next way in which I want you. My cock begins to throb again as I muse upon your utterly perfect spirit of servitude and I remember that I "own" you ... I can do anything that I want with you ... In fact, when I don't make you do things often enough, when I don't boss you around the way you love and that your cunt craves, then you become disappointed and pout. And I don't like to see you unhappy...

Crikey I was just heading off to bed when I noticed this and now sleep is the last thing on my mind!
J

 

[spiration]

Crikey I was just heading off to bed when I noticed this and now sleep is the last thing on my mind!
J

Oops! To be honest I had just meant to say "thanks", but then it occurred to me that I needed to release some tension...

 

[JadeNZ]

I managed to get to sleep eventually

 

[spiration]

I managed to get to sleep eventually

Oh, good. I have trouble sleeping sometimes, and I've found that certain things help with that...

 

[JadeNZ]

Yeah- your story was part of the problem and the solution.