I do not think I can classify any of my sexuality as a fetish–other than on whole my fascination with sex could be considered the fetish.
I know I’ve mentioned–I try everything with very little hesitation, but I have never been one of those people who locks on to one concept or idea that will get me off. My kink changes and I want someone who rolls with changes like I do.
I am certainly no pain slut–I don’t like being hurt. But I do like making my partner happy and if that means spanking me until I beg him to stop, twisting and clasping my tits until bruises appear, or the way your hands strangle around my neck as I grind your cock–stars and brain power being cinched with the loss of air, or the way you have my head hang over the edge of the bed and choke me with your hard cock as pools of my own saliva hit the floor as gagging sounds fill the room–well then pain can certainly work in those situations.
But, for me, it would never work for the long run.
At the top of my list is to please my lover, to indulge in their particular wants and needs. In this way I guess I could be considered submissive, I like to please, I like to make you happy, I like you to be thoroughly pleased with the way I love fuck you. Rather than submissive, I consider it a part of my giving nature, I am a giving lover.
I could never be a complete sub, because I like to use my lovers too much. I am guilty of sometimes separating the man from the cock or the tongue. This is why I like a man who makes me mad, as much as I like a man who make me laugh–I need both. I know if you make me mad–I have full emotion for you. And when you do make me mad–watch out–that is when man and cock separation happen and I take it out on your cock. You become irrelevant until I fuck the emotion and anger out.
And sometimes you just don’t shut the fuck up, and it makes me so infuriated and on fire–the only thing I can do is take you down. Squeezing your balls until your cock is throbbing red purple shades of darkened hues. The only thing to keep you quite is my pussy on your face, putting your tongue and mouth to better use. When I become this woman, it is hard to turn off until I have poured cum down your throat several times over. Your muffled noises mean nothing. Using your cock like it is just some dildo toy from the night stand drawer, rubbing the tip into my wet lips, working my clit with your inanimate, yet pumping full of blood cock.
This is the time when furniture is moved, dislocated and strewn about, the time I impose bruises upon my own self by how hard I am fucking you down. It’s a match, a bout, we take each other down, I smother you with my pussy, you fill me with your cock, I ride you and the couch moves from one side of the living room to the other.
Exhaustion and come take the place of anger.
Control is fleeting and neither one of should have it solely–I could never stay in such a situation. The control, the dominance and being the receiver of it strips you down–it allows great release–it brings those moments in between. Those are the moments, the two of us, no separation of man from cock–woman from pussy, you are all there and I am all there–and we fuck slow, tender, your feed me your cock and willing I take it–love it-lick it and suck it, your tongue works my core until I drain and you still keep on licking. The come I long to feel fill me up, does. The You and the I are gone to We.
But, I sure do love it when you make me mad.
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