Gripping your hips hard, the heel of my hand pressing on the bone, raising bruises. My flushed thick cock is hard with that fullness that feels like it starts in the lower back and skewers your guts on the way through. Engorged and twitching, it pushes through your fat puffy lips, buried to the point where pelvis meets pelvis and I will grind your bones into this shaking bed until you tell me to finish us both. I’ll force you wider until I’m riding you like a runaway horse, half on half off and gripping your mane as you buck me. Later, when your slathering cunt is slopping out my cum like a weeping wound, I will feed you breakfast and eat you with my eyes.
Sometimes it’s not nights that are lonely but the mornings. Shaken from dreams like a gutter drunk as the summer dawn pierces the curtains. Before the distractions of routine actions: micturition, ablution and reconstruction of the outer body of the inner man shattered by sweated sleep and exhaustion.
These are the minutes I need to be kneeling for you, Miss. Collared and maybe even chained like a farmyard whelp. I can picture You sat on the bed, me kneeling at Your feet both watching the sun rise above the sill. Not worrying about being late, what time’s the train and which meeting is first. Not even needing to look at You but feeling Your hand on my head, then it slips down and wraps around my throat and pulls me against Your legs.
I’ll pause at the door and feel the warmth of the sun on my face like the touch of Your soft flesh. I’m still kneeling inside.
I was naked and showered, lying back as the coolness of the shower deserted me. Replaced again by the insistent heat that leaves me feeling the temperature rising on my skin. Wishing you were here to force your strap-on into me, unlubricated.
I was hard for the feeling of the pain, burn and acceptance of it, and the thought of you wanting that and taking it from me was really hot. In fact, I had to get my butt plug out and try it, feeling the drag against my unlubed flesh, pushing into me, wanting to feel you pushing back my legs over my head and keep pushing and pressing and I’m whimpering but then it’s in, and it hurts but I love it and so want to be taken by you. Legs pinned back, helpless, staring into your eyes as I feel you push back deeper and I am so helplessly yours and happy. And when you are done, it hurts almost as much to take it out; you flip me over and give me 10 hard smacks to my ass and leave me, aching and hard for your control, desperate in the prickly heat.
The weight of this heat sticks to my thigh and shifts like a toppling sack. I breach the sheets and loll on my back too weighed with sweat to escape it twisted around me. This heaviness is pinning me like your body, like I imagine you squatting on me, dropped hips and wet cunt, slick lips across my throat. I feel where your fingers would dig, and the weight lifts free. I will stroke its length, clench its head as you would ask me to, sitting in the easy chair while you watch. The airless room pulls as close as your voice in my ear, steering me as I thumb at the fatness and rising heft in my hand; deep, quickening breaths force me faster.
This smothering heat will never break, it is the drumbeat of a long, simmering summer of scorched parks and kiln-baked alleys. Tension built by too many hot bodies too close together, tinder dry but running wet beneath. Tonight it will burn with fury, unleashed, inevitable and raucous, flooding out across the parched earth. Its slippery essence of rebirth drips through my furious fingers as I call for you, whole oceans away from my tidal surge.
With these thoughts, I will escape this room, the street and the city, and find my way to a cooler coast where your wetness will drown me.
This week I’ve mostly spent under the radar: an upcoming exam combined with crazy work schedule means it’s all about keeping going. Ten more days, nine, eight… work, study, sleep. I haven’t even been on twitter much, to respond to the ridiculously nice comments left by a heap of people about my shortlisted photo from last week’s Sinful Sunday.
It all adds up to not feeling like my full sexy self, bright and confident. Instead fading into the background a little.
I’ll be bouncing back soon, and I can’t wait until things get back to normal. When I’ll feel like turning the lights up again.
To find out who’s been exposing themselves this week, click on the lips below.
I like to use Sinful Sunday to explore some of the rituals of my and @fireandhoney’s D/s. Bound as it is by distance, rituals and their observance assume greater import.
Personal grooming to her satisfaction is one of these, keeping everything tidy down there – not least, to ease the loving lock-ups of panty and cage wearing. As it pleases Miss.
So this week is a shot I’ll send to bear witness to honouring my submission. Shaved, moisturised, primed for her pleasure.
See who else has been scrubbing up for Sinful Sunday by clicking on the lips below.
I’m an erratic consumer of smut, vacillating between famine and feast. Though I will browse and dip in to a selection of salacious writing each week, it’s rare that I do enough in a week to make it worth compiling a ‘best of’ as part of SOSS. Things are busy right now at my work and I am studying for an exam at the end of the month, so indulgences to read for pleasure are rare right now.
And yet this week was a happy alignment of four pieces that definitely stirred my stump and rattled my bones from some of not just my favourite writers but favourite people on the website we call twitter dot com.
First up some first class filth from the dripping pen of @confess_hannah called The Shadows Fall Behind You, a piece of resurrected backdoor action that had me reaching for the smelling salts:
No week would be right without my darling @fireandhoney’s dirty deliberations, but even by her high standards, one of her daily entries for Every Damn Day In June this week was just pure lust on a stick, that left me sweaty for the feel of her firm grip:
As someone who has been studying hard, a D/s fantasy from @hannahlockhardt definitely had me thinking about a different sort of hard studying. This is just the sort of motivational teaching style I think I would flourish under:
Finally, the ever-erotic @omisspearl conjured up this perfect piece of F/m D/s juiciness. Jerk-off instructions for the woman who knows what she wants:
Four finer pieces of filth you couldn’t want. And all in the same week was a fine alignment of naughty-but-nice. Please read and enjoy.