Just The Sex This Time

People who have come to know my writing know that above everything else it is raw.

That’s not saying it is necessarily a good thing by the way; it is what it is.

I just don’t filter what I feel, sometimes to my shameful demise, looking like a little bitch with a skinned knee at times — like I said, being vulnerable isn’t always good.

But most often that leads me to expose a raw feeling inside of me, during the passionate moments. Showing exactly what I feel when I grip my sub by the neck and thrust my cock deep inside her.

Either way, it’s raw. It’s me. It is what it is.

My words for a very long time have circled around a sexy little number who happens to be my best friend, my collared sub, and my orange sky. I’ve written of the passion, love, heartbreak, love again, fight, struggle, and the D/s dynamic we’ve found. Through it all, every word I’ve felt.

All her — all the way in. All fucking raw.

But sometimes I just don’t feel like writing about the dynamic. Sometimes, I’d rather leave out the stories of the recent pains. Sometimes I don’t even feel like talking about the love I cherish; doesn’t mean I don’t cherish it any less.

Sometimes — I just want to eat your goddamn pussy and I want to tell you about how fucking bad I want you.

Right now, is one of those times.

So, I shall reflect upon the last and envision a next, as I think you and I both know there will be. And as I paint my Van Gogh, I want you touch that little kitty for me. While you sit there, all alone, reading my words, left to right, top to bottom — I want you to verbally beg me to allow you to cum.

All by yourself — I want you to audibly say — “Daddy please let me cum!”

And hear me say “Yes” when you do.


So, start rubbing little girl. Slide your fingers down between those beautiful thighs and start rubbing. Think of me when you do.

Paint a picture in your mind of me at new Airbnb, waiting for you to arrive in a Lyft. Remember, I order toys, and this time I’m throwing the kitchen sink at you.

I want your subspace in the palm of my hand.

As you arrive, gripping you by the waist to kiss you like I mean business. Grabbing your kitty immediately to squeeze and feel your wetness through your panties. Claiming you — with eyes of anger — making sure you remember what the fuck it feels like to be owned by me.

Tossed down onto your back and holding you down by the neck as I finger your tender little kitty with vigor, seeing the ache in you. Witnessing the feeling of “oh, fucking finally” coming over, knowing deep down what I know — that you have ached for me every moment since the last time I claimed you.

Forcing your orgasms over and over, finally giving you my skilled mouth over your throbbing cunt. The orgasms flood over you again and again; meanwhile, I just fucking eat up the pride that accompanies knowing will ever fuck you like me and you know it in your bones.

I want you now — as you sit there reading this — to stop reading until you are at the edge and then continue. Not a request.

Then imagine yourself on your back, ten orgasms just flooded you, I reach for a jelly dildo, tape, a vibrator. I tape the vibe to your clit, turn it on, shove the jelly in your ass, my cock in your little beat kitty, and fuck the daylights out of you.

Now rub. Harder.

Faster. Wetter.

Do you remember the words you need to say now?

Say them.

“Yes, Kitten. You can cum.”