Cuntwriting

i have my period at the moment and it’s rendering me as horny as a rhino with a penchant for ginseng.

An oh-so-casual mention of the utterly delightful toy I was once bought, sent me reeling into a fantasy world where i am straddled across the foot of a bed, face down, half-standing but restrained by the wrists, naked but for a length of red stain ribbon tied around my waist and in-between my legs.

It’s soaking.

Behind me stands the man who, throughout everything i have experienced, and unlike any other person before or since, has always managed to arouse me, at the drop of a hat. Nothing has changed.

He can do so from afar, and delights in this ability.

Across the bed is strewn a leather car coat that he bought for me many years ago. I have worn it many times for him, the majority of which have been without other articles of clothing, save shoes. It’s a smart coat, and it fits me well, and with the high heels he adores to see me in, it really looks stunning.

It’s also an unspoken sign for him. If we arrange to meet for an innocuous coffee (is there such a thing?) and I turn up wearing the coat, he knows i want him to take me somewhere unusual, and public, and fuck me with abandon. If i arrive holding the coat folded neatly over my arm, he knows that he is to surprise me with something new that day.

He is in control, and yet so am I. That’s how it’s always been with us.

It was he who bought me the toy. My darling dolphin-rabbit (there’s a hybrid I bet you never thought you’d hear about) has stood me in good stead and continues to do so. Occupying pride of place underneath my various articles of pantyhose-like attire (mostly tights but i do have some hold-up black stockings with a lace trim). I’d be lost without it.

He begins to speak, as i stand there, leaning on the counterpane, looking at the silhouette of the coat in the duskily-lit room. I am spreadeagled and tingling, but still, very still; waiting for the anticipated first touch of his skin on mine — the tease, the stroke, the commencement of the ultimate fuck. This is an event for which we’ve both longed and to which we’ve both looked forward for a very long time.

He speaks of the time that we met in London. When neither of us saw the light of day for four days straight, so engrossed were each of us in the other, and so intent on causing yet another orgasm-raddled wail to rend the air so that we could subside into each other and then start all over again.

He describes how we left the room to get food, and how we sat opposite each other in the restaurant: oblivious to everyone and everything around us, our feet entwined, and our knees pressing against each other. How he deliberately and discreetly raised each of his fingers to his nose and sniffed them, as if inhaling a priceless perfume. The fingers that had been inside me until a mere half hour prior to that moment. The perfume that lingered despite a rigorous shower. How he looked at me knowingly, and smiled.

He stops and i realise he is waiting for me to speak. That’s how it goes with us. He may restrain me and prepare himself to fuck my cunt and my ass and beat me until i howl for mercy, but he wants to hear my contribution to the ambiance.

Right now, he wants me to describe in intimate detail how aroused I am. It isn’t difficult to do, albeit that it would be far easier to gauge by stroking a finger between my legs. If he nudged aside the strips of now-sopping ribbon, he would easily feel the depth of my arousal. That’s if he can’t hear the urgency of desire in my whispered tones.

He can, but this is what he chooses to do. And while he’s never referred to himself as my dom, we both know that he has the faint urgings of control in him, nestling neatly beside all his other fetishes.

We don’t play to any prescribed tune. Although I think it’s fair to say we dabble.

I speak, softly. I talk of when he fucked me better than anyone has ever fucked me before. When he took my virgin ass and made it his, his supreme conquest.

No one has ever owned my ass before or since. Fucked it, yes. Owned it? no. Only him.

He asks me to describe the last time i used my wonderful toy.

“It was a week or so ago, when i went online and read some of your prose. Imaging myself as your protagonista – which, indeed, you had also done, i used it to fuck myself into a supreme state of arousal, to the extent that i also managed to make myself gush, all over the floor.

“You always did have that effect on me. And you manage to do it with nothing more X-rated than a keyboard. And your fingers, of course — but said digits are so geographically far away from me. How do you do that? How do you make me so wet that with the flick of a vibrator switch i can come and come and come again, until i lie spent wondering what the fuck just happened. It’s not like they were probing inside my cunt, and waiting to be licked clean. ”

It is then that he loses control, grabs me and slides his lead pipe of a cock straight inside me.

And my dolphin does its job.

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16 Responses to “Cuntwriting”

  1. I missed reading your site, you have such a style in your writing that makes it feel as if I am a fly on the wall and able to picture every detail. I’ll update my roll to this site.

  2. I still say there’s something not quite right about being aroused by Flipper’s nose! Great writing Miss x

  3. just saying hello minxie…keep writing…
    -mimi

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  9. I love the coat as a sign…

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  11. Wow… fantastic!!

    I just found you.. and I am enthralled.

    Your writing is great.. your eroticism fantastic!

    Ohh do you ever make me jealous of your man!!

    Much more to read now that I have found your blog… determining to write comments again as I devour each of your writings… but I think I must take them one at a time.. don’t want to overheat- the summer already so hot.

  12. Welcome back!

    And, it isn’t fair how they can do that to use with just a few clicks on a keyboard. So not fair.

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