My sinister side is always in constant battle with my other sinister side. One of them always wins.
You see, I am desperate to make you cum. Like a lot. And hard. Like really hard.
I’ll use every tool at my disposal.
To me, there is not one single element of the sexual experience better that witnessing a woman have a truly earth-shattering orgasmic moment. Except maybe a second one. Or a third. Or a seventh.
Women who follow this blog find this to be a nice personality trait of mine. Some probably think I am full of shit. Pay no attention to them.
The truth is, I guess it would probably be an ego thing. Knowing that I can, by myself, no toys needed, completely take control of another person’s body, taking her to a plane of existence that is beyond euphoric. I am an attention whore, to myself.
I absolutely get off at the result – seeing her sprawled out on the bed, tangled up in the comforter, barely able to move or say anything resembling a cohesive thought.
Her saying “Yes, More”. Her body pushing back, saying “No”, but “don’t stop”,
“More.” “Oh, I can’t take it.” “But more.”
Absolutely the biggest rush in the world. I have gotten to the point I don’t even have to cum to be satisfied.
As a grown man I’ve gotten to the point where I have known exactly what it is that I want for years now. What it is, that I need.
Passion. With a capital fucking “P”.
A connection, in the deepest sense, with you and not just in bed. I need to know you. I need to see you laugh. I need to see you stressed out about life and more than anything I want to be there for you in those moments when you cry.
I need this connection all to come together when I kiss you. I need to be as close to one with you as you possibly can be.
I need to be inside you.
Pushing my mouth up to meet yours as you feel your cervix being battered by hardness. To stare through your closed eyelids and see directly into your soul as you moan out in pure ecstasy as the 5th orgasm rocks your foundation, knowing that soon we will be laying next to each other naked, sharing a bottle of water and laughing about some lame shit I just said about how my dick looks pathetic when it’s limp.
That’s the shit right there. This blog may convey a lot about sex, but without that connection, I’d rather jerk off and get some work done.
He pushed me to my knees with a guttural “suck me.” As I knelt there everything felt throbbing and swollen—especially the space between my legs. I squirmed anxiously as he unzipped his pants, impatient to feel him, taste him, please him.
There was no gentleness in his hands, or in the way he fucked into my mouth. His thick length sliding all the way back, making me gag and moan around him, jerking back involuntarily as much as his grip would allow.
He moved a little slower with the next thrust, pulling me off and back onto his cock with a steady pace, going a little deeper each time. I fell into the rythym, focused only on him, feeling the tension build in his thighs, his hips moving faster now. His breathing getting harsher. And this time when he pushed all the way in I breathed through my nose and swallowed reflexively, massaging his cock with my throat.
That’s the moment he broke. He couldn’t hold on to his self-control, threading his hands through my hair and pushing my head all the way down. He’s so big my lips were stretched tight and my tongue flutteredaround his girth as my nose pressed into the hair around the base of his cock
“Shit,” he swore. “Holy shit. You’re going to make me cum.”
Yes! Yes, that’s what I wanted. His words sent a thrill of arousal through me and I kept swallowing over and over as he held me against him, tears starting to run down my face in response. He saw this and groaned again – one of regret I thought – and loosened his grip on my head, letting me take several, desperate gasps for air, tears continuing to run down my face.
“More,” he said, “I need more,” and I nodded, my mouth already opening for his possession. His body curled over mine as he pumped his hips faster, his grip tightened even further, and then he shot into my mouth. Over and over again. With a masculine sounds that curled my toes. Salty spurts of cum down my throat, on my tongue and finally dripping down my chin to land on my breasts. And even though I haven’t cum, it is deeply satisfying to see that gleam in his eye, to wear his essence, to know that I have pleased him.
I was caught up in the luxurious slide of his thick cock inside me – soothing the empty ache while creating a whole new kind of hunger. I could feel my orgasm build. A delicious tension in my lower belly, the tightening of my thigh muscles, as he drove me to the edge. Restrained as I was I couldn’t give in to the need to move my hips in counterpoint to his thrusts, which only added to the sensation of helplessness that I loved. I wasn’t even aware that I had closed my eyes, lost in the pleasure he gave me.
Suddenly his hand was wrapped around my throat, forcing me to look at him.
“Are you losing focus little girl?”
“No! No Sir…ohhhh fuck.”
This as he shoved his cock even deeper into me.
“Are you sure?” He pulled almost all the way out, leaving me hanging, desperate for his next thrust.
“Ah! Fuck! Yes Sir oh god, please, please don’t stop.”
“Oh I’m not stopping anytime soon you little slut. Just making sure you’re with me.”
His cock filled me again and I whimpered in pleasure and relief.
“I am, ohhhhh, oh fuck Sir. It feels so good.”
“I know it does, I know how you like to be fucked. Keep your eyes on me. If you close them there will be trouble. Understand?”
I believe nobody should ever be defined as anything. Calling myself a Dominant is a bit ridiculous. An Alpha. Kind of self-indulgent pat-yourself-on-the-back ego bullshit that irritates me to witness in others, so to participate in it myself is a bit hypocritical.
However, simplification is always a part of life and Einstein once said “Don’t be a blowhard, dude” (paraphrasing) and anyways it’s easier to say “I am dominant” than “I enjoy sexual experiences most when I am aggressively anger-fucking and striking fear into a woman who is submitting her will to me in a mixed blend of seemingly odd mixed messages but feels absolutely right in the act. After all, I adore this woman. It’s part of the experience.”
But I pretty much loathe the whole lexicon of dominance, bdsm, submission, and all the idiots on Tumblr that try to provide instruction on “How to be a proper Dom”. Bunch of fucking clowns in their mom"s basements with minimal real relationship experience. Usually in their 20s. Please, fucking spare me.
But, to not lose too much focus – The Alpha Sub.
What does this mean? Well, it is what I see as the type of woman I am attracted to most. Does that mean she fem doms my dick with her pussy? No. Although a bit of aggressive female slamming your hooha up against me is sexy as fuck. But I digress.
What I mean, is I like strong women. Backbones. The only women I have ever fell for had them. Strong character. Strong voices in life. Don’t put up with shit. Handle your business. Do not need me – want me. Many men, in fact tons, would disagree with me and want their wives to be the “yes dear” 1950′s version for conservative ideals blah blah blah. Those guys are pussies. I only would want an Alpha Sub. A Strong Woman.
But in bed, seeing a woman go from ass kicker to kneeling submissive is a gift from heaven. Seeing her bend to your want, and give herself to you completely, and enjoy the strength that comes in being a submissive, and yes there is a ton of strength in that role – well, not much more in life is better.
Have a kick ass day at work or as a mom or whatever. Then come home, and I am there to grab you by the neck, slam you up against a wall, facefuck your sweet little mouth, and force orgasms on you like a torpedo hit you. And fucking beg me for more. Kneel. Call me “Daddy” and ask for it harder.
That’s the Woman – capital W – that makes my clock tick.
Mischief's Muse 