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As context, this is my profile of something that happened. The situation is that I was playing with my Dom (owner) and his girlfriend for the weekend. This is when me and him got a bit of alone time! enjoy:

We all get ready to go to bed.

I feel so lucky that Lynne has decided again that she is sleeping downstairs on the sofa. I know that’s selfish – and I did offer to sleep there so you could both have the bed. But she seems certain in her decision, and arguing politely seems like it would be both futile and awkward. Also, I don’t want to sleep away from you. I want to be with you.

I finish brushing my teeth and everything, quicker than both of you. And I wait for you eagerly in the bed. You need to say goodnight to Lynne, and make sure she feels cared for and not left out, and I don’t’ mind at all, or how long it takes, because you will eventually be in the bed with me.

And I think I would be perfectly content if all we did was just be close and touching and fall asleep. That’s how needy I am for you – just getting to touch would be heaven. Especially because I think it has been on the sofa during the day today – that I haven’t gotten to be close to you. All I want is some touch like that – your arm around me, any skin on skin, or just warmth of my back leaning against you somehow. But I think I sensed the removal of your touch at Lynne’s request – too much intimacy. The thing I crave denied me. Which is ok, and reasonable. But it doesn’t mean that I crave it any less. I still want it more than I can imagine wanting anything else in the world.

But anyway, now, in bed, when you come upstairs…I can have what I need. And I love how you give me it, what I crave, need, desire. How I can feel that you want it too, just as much. Oh – to feel desired and wanted in that way. I love that. Love the feeling that to draw inwards to one another is an inevitability, a necessity, when we are close and unobserved, and free to do exactly as we desire. The impatience and hunger we feel because we have been damping it down, hiding it, pushing it under the surface…all day.

To draw in to your chest, hook my leg over yours, feel so close. Tilt my head upwards and kiss you, then kiss down your neck, kiss and lick your collar bone. I don’t ever know why I feel the urge to lick you, but I do. Kiss and lick and kiss…sometimes bit softly. Just to have your skin on my lips, tongue, between my teeth. Hungry for you I suppose. A desire to consume.

I don’t know how long any of that would have lasted, until you decide you need to fuck me. But not just fuck…that one word doesn’t sum it up. I feel like it’s a specific need for your hard cock to be inside me – fucking follows that initial need, yes – but at first, I think I experience it as a desire to be inside me. To feel my cunt wrapped around your cock, how warm and wet I am as you enter me. And it all the time feels so good, that specific first moment you push inside me when we fuck. The very first thrust, then feeling you there, inside me, before you fuck me.

And also how you arrange me, pull me into position. That you all the time know how you want it to be, and your hands let me know. Put me where you want me, manipulate my body so it is as you wish it. I love to be guided like that, firmly and with intent. So I can feel your control over me just in the certainty of your touch. And we fuck that night in your favourite position, hard to describe the arrangement of bodies in words, but you know what I mean.

And the lights are out, you have told me to be quiet, silent. Quieter than last night. And we are very quiet. Hardly speaking at all. And that turns me on. That we have to be silent. That our silence completely acknowledges we are doing something wrong, that we should not be doing. That must be kept secret. But we can’t help but do it. There is no question that we would obviously do this, left alone together. That it never feels much like a choice – anything ‘wrong’ that we do. Doesn’t feel wrong, it feels like an inevitability. And if it could be hurtful to someone else, that feels like almost nothing at all to me – in the face of how completely instinctively right everything we do together feels. There is no pang of guilt or twinge of conscience that could possibly pull me back from needing to touch you, be close, have you inside me (any hole). It is an unstoppable force this way I feel for you. Like magnets or gravity…just like a law. A truth. The way the world is. And I can’t help it, or stop it, or repress it. It just is.

And your fingers move to my clit. I love how you touch me. I can hardly or rarely touch myself like this. I don’t know why – it just doesn’t feel the same, doesn’t feel as good – as when you do it to me. And I love that too. That how you touch me, how you make my clit feel, is not something I can replicate. Is not something I can have on my own without you.

I am not intending to orgasm, I am not considering that you want it, I am not focused on this yet. I am just feeling. Feeling your cock inside me, moving in and out, fucking, grinding my hips back against you, finding the rhythm between us. Feeling your fingers on me, stroking, manipulating, feeling so good. And because it is dark and I can’t see. Because we must be quiet and we do not speak. My mind wanders a little.

(Though as an apart, I love the things we say to one another. I love the terrible things the most. When you told me that weekend that we would cheat, more. And I agree, I want it, I say how much I need it. Oh, I love the really really bad things we say the most).

But this night, we can’t speak. So my mind wanders. You made Lynne tell me I was pathetic that afternoon. Twice I think. She didn’t want to, it wasn’t delivered with particular spite. But the three words “Hannah you’re pathetic”, said twice, out loud, are enough. They come into my mind, unbidden. They turn me on. The combination – that memory of the words, your fingers on my clit, your cock in my cunt. It feels very good. Very very good. Feeling how good that is, with those three things combined. That is when I know I perhaps could orgasm. That the things I need are there. The physical sensation, and the little train of wondered – the mental stimulus…those things hold the possibility of an orgasm.

And I can’t speak, I can’t see you. There is nothing but those things. So there is no feasible distraction to derail it.

So I let myself focus. On the physical sensation – and on what I need. The rhythm of my hips, thrusting my clit forwards into your hand, allowing that to be what I need, what I want to feel. Allowing myself to be selfish. Or perhaps it is not selfish, it is just a focus on my own pleasure. You are teaching me slowly – not to view that as selfish, or bad. You are teaching me that it is ok, that it is accepted, that it is desirable to you, that I should have this focus on my own needs, my own pleasure. And although it is difficult for me to allow myself to do this, to focus on my own pleasure, I am learning, slowly – to let myself do it. And in this moment, tonight, I allow myself to do it. I let go of worrying that it might not be the perfect way to grind on your cock, or worrying about what you want at all. In the dark and in the quiet, I let go of the obstacles that I place in front of my own pleasure. And I just let it happen.

And as I relax and give my body permission to do as it desires, I let my mind wander. I take the seed of those words “Hannah you’re pathetic” – said by your actual girlfriend, and I wrap a context around them. A context that makes them more potent. A context that is not entirely true, but could be. And I never know if the fact I know it isn’t really true is what makes it safe to imagine such humiliation, or if some part of me really would like these things to be true. But now is not the time to be concerned with that. I simply imagine that everything I think is secret and special and unique about how you feel for me, is not in fact true. That I am simply a play-thing, a toy – for you and Lynne. That she knows we are doing this, that you are only doing it, making me think it is special…so that you can show how much control and power you can exert over a stupid vulnerable needy slut. So that you can make me let my guard down, make me come on your cock, then laugh at how needy and desperate and owned I am – with Lynne. So you can both laugh at your ability to manipulate and exploit me…because you don’t really care about me, I don’t matter, I am just a game, a toy. To be used at whim and discarded. And I imagine you both telling me this, revealing it to me, as I helplessly writhe on your cock, under you fingers. And I am humiliated and ashamed, but I can’t stop moving my hips. I can’t stop how close to orgasm it is getting me.

And knowing that the orgasm itself, my inability to stop grinding my hips, whilst knowing I am being used and deceived and derided and mocked in this way – will be the ultimate humiliation…that is what tips me over the edge. That is the meaning I give to the words “Hannah you’re pathetic”. And that meaning, and your cock, and your fingers. All three. Make me orgasm. Come on your cock.

The first time I have ever orgasmed on any man’s cock. Something I specifically though was not feasible, was out of reach for me, that I would never feel.

But with you, I did, and I have subsequently. With you, only with you, I am able to allow myself to relax, focus on my self, my own body, my own needs. And not simply because I am comfortable or relaxed. But because you push me to do it. I need that. I need the way you push me – to try, to focus. Your permission, encouragement, your conviction – that I must allow myself to feel good with you. That I am deserving of this. Because you believe it to be true, even if I doubt it. Your conviction that I both can and should, orgasm with you. That is what allows it to happen. It may seem passive, because you are creating the space for me to get there. But your conviction is what creates that space. And no one has ever persisted in that way before. Patiently. Not all the time pushing, not quite demanding. Sometimes pulling back, but sometimes pushing me. And in the end, for you, I orgasm.

(If you happen to like my writing – I have written more & there’s a link to my blog on my account)

NSFW: yes

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