I wanted Him to use me. To take control of my very soul and control me. Take my body and do sinfully delicious things to me.
I needed Him to put his hand against my throat,and pin me to the wall. I needed him to place rough kisses all over my mouth, neck, and breasts. I needed those bites, however hard or soft they were, and the evidence of a Stern but caring love that they would leave behind. I needed the bruises as a reminder that while at work tomorrow, I was just as average and normal as all the millions of other nameless faces that would pass me by.
But at home? Home is where I become his wanton slut. His whore. The place where his pleasure comes from. And I love that.
I love it when he would take hold of me, strip me bare and looked right into my quivering soul. And no matter what felt or looked wrong, fat, or ugly in my eyes, I knew that in his eyes I was a fuckin Goddess. I love how he forced me down over the bed and caressed my rotund, silky ass. The way his fingers made errant little slips across the lips of my cunt. I loved it even more when his fingers would stroke my clit and stop just before I could even register where that pleasure was coming from.
I needed him to do the one thing that would break me down, build me up, and rock me down to my core. He knew what I was thinking. His words were swift, but simple, "Do NOT move, bitch." I knew better than to tempt the fates. Disobedience meant that what we both needed would become just a forgotten afterthought.
I knew that he had gotten something from somewhere. I just couldn't make out the where and what. I knew that he would honestly rather go to hell doused in kerosene than tell me what evil plots he had. I grew restless. I decided to be cute and do my best Shakira hip shaking impression. What it looked like was another sad story.
He made swift movements in an effort to keep his plans a secret. I only heard a sharp snap before my nerves exploded in pain. And I barely got a break in before He rained unholy terror down on my unassuming ass.
I know that between strokes, he was knuckle deep in my tender, tight cunt. He would drum on my Gspot like he was awakening the Natives and readying them for war. He strummed my clit as though he wanted to summon dancers from shows gone by.
And I? I was cumming. Everything was going silent in my head, even though my screams could wake the dead in Atlantis. He continued working all kinds of magic, while I attempted to fend off the assault on my senses. I was being dragged down the rabbit hole of lust like a lifeless, cum covered rag doll. Thrown off a cliff into an ocean of orgasm.
When what felt like an eon of orgasms had passed, He swiftly planted his firm cock within me.
Everything around me grew fuzzy and weary. I needed the strength of a million and seventy men just to keep the beast within me from ripping out of my skin.
But I needed the beast to come out of him. I needed rough, unabashed, primal fucking. I needed him to demolish me. Turn me into nothing and build me from the cunt up into something all over again.
2 more minutes of him pulling me from position to position and impaling me on that glorious cock, I exploded. To say that I came was like saying the Nile is just a puddle on a sidewalk in Manhattan. My cunt clenched, throbbed, and practically died on his lap. Gooey girl cum was dripping from my cunt, down my thighs, across his thighs, cock and stomach.
The words he say next are NOT of gratitude, but of simplicity, and half joking sternness.
"I didn't tell you to cum," he said. "Another round till you can get it right!"
I smile, pull his arms around me, and simply say "That was more a 'splosion. Doesn't count." As I giggle, he nuzzles his head into my hair, kisses me and tells me he loves me, but I am going to pay for this.
Break me down, Build me up, Make me whole...