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Farawyn
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He is. When I’m in that mindset, he is. All I want is his happiness.
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He is. When I’m in that mindset, he is. All I want is his happiness.
dirtyharry1981
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Jun 22, 2005
- Posts
- 2,651
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PrettyLilPussy
Guest
dirtyharry1981
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Jun 22, 2005
- Posts
- 2,651
P
PrettyLilPussy
Guest
The sixpack almost ruins it but the clothes pull... yes
https://78.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m9lnyvPv2J1r99785o1_500.jpg
https://78.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m9lnyvPv2J1r99785o1_500.jpg
_Necrosomantic_
N A i A
- Joined
- Jun 23, 2016
- Posts
- 2,981
Before I go
We’ve talked a lot in this thread about what servitude means to us, the difference between it and other forms of sex, reciprocity and passion, and why this form of intimacy is so worthy of making that distinction. A lot of us are still learning these things, and I’m glad this thread exists and will be continued on in the future, because it’s certainly a worthy topic. So, seeing as how I’ve decided to move on, one last time, I’ll share.
I hear a lot of people speaking on the topic of “ dry spells “ or “ rough patches “ in their sex lives, and while I can sympathize or offer advice, my empathy is limited because I don’t truly understand it as I’ve never experienced it. I still carry as much desire for her as when we first met and, coincidentally, it began with this thread’s namesake. After all, this is one of two places on here that helped us become what we are.
If you talk to anyone about sex seriously, and I mean really talk to them and listen to what they say/how they say it/the words they choose/their tone/etc., you can figure out rather quickly what they want, what they don’t want, and what they don’t know they want. It’s not magic, nor mind reading, just good ol’ fashioned give and take conversation. I’ll take what you tell me, and give you what you need. The first time I got her alone, I did just that.
An extremely emotional meet up in a crowded airport. An intense ride back to my place, full of heavy breathing and a lot of very hard squeezing and groping. The driver was tipped well. Then was a short elevator ride featuring more of the same. Finally, as my front door was closing, I reminded her of what I had imparted to her in way of a warning about her arrival.
I said,” Before that door shuts, and you hear that lock click into place, if there is anything you need to do. Any phone calls you have to make, if you need anything out of your luggage, if you’re hungry or thirsty, or if you have to use the bathroom, you’d better speak up now. Because, once you and I are alone, you won’t be getting another chance for any of that, until I’m done with you.” The only answer I got was a nervous smile.
*Click*
Pausing only for a second to take off her shoes off, I didn’t say a word as I marched her backwards into the bedroom, then preceded to start stripping clothes off while circling her. She wanted to touch me, was fidgeting, but I kept moving. It’s not that I don’t want her too, quite the opposite, but this is where that listening I talked about earlier comes into play. She’s never had someone really take care of her, she’s never had someone take away all those ugly little misplaced insecurities that others gave her, she never had someone drill into her that she deserves more, she’s never been worshipped, and we can’t have that now can we.
The last thing to come off after I push her down, are her panties, and I notice she’s trying to cover up. No. I pin her hands down by her wrists and look her full in the face. This is not the internet, I don’t want a “ good angle “ or some bullshit cropped picture where all you show me is that you’re afraid I’m going to change on you because you’re human. Oh no, now you give me everything, because you’re mine, and unlike those before me, I actually know what to do with it. Now is when you learn first hand that I am what and who I say I am, and that I meant every second spent and word said.
Teeth on soft skin that’s been starved, saliva mixing together for the first time, shaky thighs pried apart, slowly sliding down and making sure to not miss an inch of her, and then making good on all those dirty little promises and ideas I put in her head. Tongue and fingers moving simultaneously, rough and deep, reaching up with my free hand to squeeze her cute little neck. Relentlessly giving her the kind affection she needs and that I can’t help but have to let out. I don’t stop until she’s begging me and I’m quite sure the neighbors have memorized my first name, and even then, I still don’t let her up until she believes it. Three days of that. Literally. We barely ate, didn’t go out, and existed solely on water and cum. Jamming a lifetime’s worth of what should have been I to the time we have now. And we still do it, just like that, all the time. Although, we do eat food and go out occasionally now.
As for whether or not I got her to believe it, well, you’d have to ask her
We’ve talked a lot in this thread about what servitude means to us, the difference between it and other forms of sex, reciprocity and passion, and why this form of intimacy is so worthy of making that distinction. A lot of us are still learning these things, and I’m glad this thread exists and will be continued on in the future, because it’s certainly a worthy topic. So, seeing as how I’ve decided to move on, one last time, I’ll share.
I hear a lot of people speaking on the topic of “ dry spells “ or “ rough patches “ in their sex lives, and while I can sympathize or offer advice, my empathy is limited because I don’t truly understand it as I’ve never experienced it. I still carry as much desire for her as when we first met and, coincidentally, it began with this thread’s namesake. After all, this is one of two places on here that helped us become what we are.
If you talk to anyone about sex seriously, and I mean really talk to them and listen to what they say/how they say it/the words they choose/their tone/etc., you can figure out rather quickly what they want, what they don’t want, and what they don’t know they want. It’s not magic, nor mind reading, just good ol’ fashioned give and take conversation. I’ll take what you tell me, and give you what you need. The first time I got her alone, I did just that.
An extremely emotional meet up in a crowded airport. An intense ride back to my place, full of heavy breathing and a lot of very hard squeezing and groping. The driver was tipped well. Then was a short elevator ride featuring more of the same. Finally, as my front door was closing, I reminded her of what I had imparted to her in way of a warning about her arrival.
I said,” Before that door shuts, and you hear that lock click into place, if there is anything you need to do. Any phone calls you have to make, if you need anything out of your luggage, if you’re hungry or thirsty, or if you have to use the bathroom, you’d better speak up now. Because, once you and I are alone, you won’t be getting another chance for any of that, until I’m done with you.” The only answer I got was a nervous smile.
*Click*
Pausing only for a second to take off her shoes off, I didn’t say a word as I marched her backwards into the bedroom, then preceded to start stripping clothes off while circling her. She wanted to touch me, was fidgeting, but I kept moving. It’s not that I don’t want her too, quite the opposite, but this is where that listening I talked about earlier comes into play. She’s never had someone really take care of her, she’s never had someone take away all those ugly little misplaced insecurities that others gave her, she never had someone drill into her that she deserves more, she’s never been worshipped, and we can’t have that now can we.
The last thing to come off after I push her down, are her panties, and I notice she’s trying to cover up. No. I pin her hands down by her wrists and look her full in the face. This is not the internet, I don’t want a “ good angle “ or some bullshit cropped picture where all you show me is that you’re afraid I’m going to change on you because you’re human. Oh no, now you give me everything, because you’re mine, and unlike those before me, I actually know what to do with it. Now is when you learn first hand that I am what and who I say I am, and that I meant every second spent and word said.
Teeth on soft skin that’s been starved, saliva mixing together for the first time, shaky thighs pried apart, slowly sliding down and making sure to not miss an inch of her, and then making good on all those dirty little promises and ideas I put in her head. Tongue and fingers moving simultaneously, rough and deep, reaching up with my free hand to squeeze her cute little neck. Relentlessly giving her the kind affection she needs and that I can’t help but have to let out. I don’t stop until she’s begging me and I’m quite sure the neighbors have memorized my first name, and even then, I still don’t let her up until she believes it. Three days of that. Literally. We barely ate, didn’t go out, and existed solely on water and cum. Jamming a lifetime’s worth of what should have been I to the time we have now. And we still do it, just like that, all the time. Although, we do eat food and go out occasionally now.
As for whether or not I got her to believe it, well, you’d have to ask her
F
Farawyn
Guest
*covers my face, blushing*
I love you.
I love you.
F
Farawyn
Guest
His was the 5000th post. I’d like to end the thread here, if we can.
Cookie?
Cookie?
F
Farawyn
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