25 things

http://25thingsaboutmysexuality.blogspot.com

guess which one is mine

tied and kneeling

badness

I had to confess to my man again today, down the slightly stretched sounding phone line from India.
I'm sorry I've been bad, not as bad as last time, but I didn't ask for permission in this instance. I just got carried away. I am broke and horny this month, and you're so far away...did I say I was sorry? I am. very.
I let him watch, you asked me not touch him, and I didn't, but I let him watch me, I kept my pants on, if that helps? I let him watch whilst I played. And charged him the price of a henry.
I'm sorry.
Can we talk about future hopes and dreams again now?

pressure

His head’s so big that at first I don’t think it will fit, but he just presses and presses…

I’d have known this was what it was like, but last time I stopped him. It was years ago now, whilst I was still with Alex and I’d like to think that’s what it was that stopped me…. Or I’d like you to think that’s what it was, but in reality I know that lying there, with him between my thighs, both of us naked and myself opened out to him, his cock “knocking at the door” (his words) I asked him not to because I wasn’t on the pill and he hadn’t offered to wrap it up. I could’ve asked him to wrap it up. Or just let him in and gone for the morning after pill the following day. But I asked him not to, and let myself believe that it was for Alex.

And now here I am, in his fiancée’s arms, she’s stroking me, kissing me and I’m staring up at him, wide eyed and he’s pressing and pressing until I give and he forces his way in whilst I gasp and clench.

The shaft is contrastingly narrow, and he doesn’t give me his full length, but there’s a sweet spot that he’s hitting, and I arch my back striving for more pressure, to be filled.

And she’s there, kissing and stroking me and I’m gasping and writhing and reaching, and reaching… reaching….

Getting closer and closer…. But he (they?) prolong it, and I keep reaching….

more reasons. or excuses?

night five: I invent an argument, shrug his advances off, roll over and go to sleep
night six: we're both drunk and worn out, and so we pass out
night seven: I submit. He wants a lot. I give it to him. It hurts.

I can't fake this

I snuggle up to you, purring like a cat, and ask you to hold tight to my hair.
you stroke your hand over my head ,over and over, stroking and smoothing.... wind your fingers into my tresses and pull tight.... You make me whimper and promise, I have to twist and turn and writhe to keep close to your hand- it's hurts- you lead me by my scalp...

Down on the floor on my hands and knees, you kneel beside me and press the flat of your hand into the small of my back, 'Arch your back', I do as you ask, lifting my ass up, opening myself and revealing her to you fully. At the beginning the force of the smack against my cheeks is a surprise. Again and again you bring your hand against me, hard, the sound reverberates through me before the pain registers. I can't ignore it, it hurts to much to get used to. Eventually the tears come but I don't ask you to stop. My glasses fill with salt water, I can hardly see out. When your fingers slap against her I begin to shake and cry.

Standing over me you feed your stiffening cock between my lips, over my tongue and force it down into my throat. You gaze down at my upturned face as I choke on you, thrusting into me, holding my head you smile down at me and force it further in.

Am I tear stained? mascara streaked? Does it turn you on to hurt me?

It should shame me to kneel like this. But it is pure joy to submit to you.