Stick the Landing
It’s been a few fortnights since I took your dirty imagination along a magic carpet ride, reaching down inside your corrupt dreams, toying with you, all so I can feed my ego and bring your “Yes Daddy” side to life. My goal is always to evoke the response in you that I already know I’ll inevitably get, even get before I start this. My goal is to make that dirty girl within you come out to play, hopefully questioning yourself along the way, then succumbing to the ache to deliver yourself to me. To release your day into an adept man, who is always one step ahead of you, all so I may solidify my position one step behind you, yanking your hair as I stand there.
Well, I sense as you read this, you are a bit torn now, choosing between abhorring my arrogance or seeking to follow along and scoff at the next pompous thing I might say. But there is still this small side of you right now, curious to see if I still have it in me to woo you, all after offending your sensibilities.
Yes, I do. And yes, I will.
It is this side of you, that I am going grab by the hair and neck and play you like a fiddle. So just ease back in your seat, little one, because this one has your begrudgingly resistant wet knuckles written all over it.
Standing firm with ferocious intent to snatch your consent to not touch, I just metaphorically chalked my hands, ready to mount and glide across the pommel horse, always determined to stick the landing.
Better-equipped than at any point in my life to be a force to be reckoned with, I am symbolic of the man your parents didn’t even know that they should have warned you about. Devilish grin? Check. Executive career? Check. Craftsman with words? Check.
Ability to make you cum more times than you could count? Check your panties.
Right now, I want your internal shock therapy to come to life as your knees jolt inward, ripped out of you by way of the words I cascade across your psyche. All while you resistantly read along, then cave with no willpower, then reach, unbutton, then touch, as I do what I do so well, painting the pictures I paint with my words as my oils and your craving mind as my canvas.
So keep on fighting me; I’d prefer it that way. But I always win in the end, princess. Always.
And so it goes…
You find yourself thumbing down on your phone, sifting around the Internet one night looking for word smut to appease your carnal lust for the evening, as tends to be the case quite often. Again and again, you pass over one pathetic, typo-ridden, shit-sample of erotica gone wrong after another, but then you finally find your way to one man’s blog that happens to speak to you.
Your internal monologue is akin to, “wow, this guy is a royal fucking dick, and even worse, he knows it, but still, I do kind of wonder if those multiple orgasms that he can’t shut about are real, or just misplaced bravado?”
I’d prefer that you assume the latter, princess.
The shock in your eyes when I force feed you your wetness dripping from my fingers is partly what I’m after. I ache to stand above you, peer into your puzzled eyes, as I give you that “I told you so” look, then hit you with round two, three, four, and ten.
“Time to lean back now,” you tell yourself, “this stupid son-a-bitch is good.” You’re goddamn right I am.
Unbuttoning your jeans, you slide your hands down under your panties to your heaven’s gate, immediately recognizing the wetness is more prevalent than you expected.
“Hmm,” you think, “well, I guess I can play along. Joke’s on him.”
Meanwhile, hazel green eyes complimenting an already unfairly sinister face full of devilish pride clicks away of his iPhone, clearly aware of the game I play. The glass on his phone reflects back the silhouette of a man with a shaved head and a beard, acting as imaginative fuel to guide your fingers right now.
“Circles,” I say. “Wet, firm circles. Now faster.”
You are gonna cum for me whether you want to or not, and right now you can feel yourself ditching the resistance you once held just a mere few paragraphs ago. Because what you know deep down is Mr. Dickhead has a soft side, just for you little lady, and you can’t think of a better way than to spend time right now but than sacrificing your orgasm to me.
Cool mountain air hits the neck of the virtual architect of your mind, and through conversations with him, you find Mr. Blog just happens to be arriving in your neck of the woods on business next month. Yeah, this is the part where I make you believe it.
He sends you an address one hour after he lands, along with the words, “I’m waiting for you.”
“Blue house, red door. Just walk in.”
You proceed to tie up loose ends and your schedule has been cleared for over a week now. No excuses — it’s game time.
Driving over brings nervous excitement but the act of actually arriving nearly brings a panic attack. Stepping through the door, your heart beats like a bass speaker and the makeup you so carefully applied is now in danger of beading down your forehead in streams of sweat. You start to brush your brow with your hand when you hear the calm and stoic words, “don’t worry about your makeup, doll. It won’t be on long.”
My hand rushes to your neck and presses you up against the wall behind you, and a kiss of raw passion takes every thought you had away from you in nanoseconds. Our sounds turn into a symphony of heavy breathing and pure animalistic lust, while coherent thought patterns cease to exist. The core of what makes us human, exposed in the rawest form, all in less than sixty seconds together. My hands exploring every part of you without asking for permission, just how you like it.
“Goddamn, he smells good. Goddamn, he tastes good. Goddamn! Fuck! He even fucking kisses good too.”
“Goddamnit, she fucking tastes and smells amazing. I can’t fucking take this much longer!”
A tight grip on your hair pulls you onto the couch in the first room that we can find, and your top is lifted up and over your shoulders in no time at all. Breasts unleashed from captivity, the thought crosses my mind to spend some time here, but from the moment I watched you pull up, I knew my mouth would be over your cunt in a rush.
Pants nearly ripped from your body, my mouth encompassing your sweet wetness and my tongue and upper lip get to work in concert with each other, pulling out sensations from your clit like I was siphoning gas from you.
Your legs fold as you cum in less time than you ever have in your life, and it is in this the moment that you realize you might be barking up the wrong tree. My arms shoot up to wedge between your legs and firmly hold you in place while my mouth starts going into second gear and you have no place to run and hide as I steal the ownership of your pussy right out from your own control and make it my bitch.
Ten minutes of this treatment and you look like you just ran a marathon, meanwhile I’ve barely broken a sweat and hardly tapped into my arsenal.
“Goddamn, you are in for it,” I think to myself.
At this moment, sheer pride and ego are flooding over me, and I recall what I know from countless conversations I’ve had, realizing my differentiators and that most men are pathetically fucking clueless.
“Oh, sweet one…you haven’t even had my best yet,” I think to myself. “Just wait until you ache every morning for me to come and claim your body.” I can see in your eyes I’m breaking you down and I’ve barely just given you a taste.
Two fingers shoved right up inside your tight and soaking wet kitty, enslaving your willpower as my tongue never lets up. Your body stirs and shakes as the orgasms I feed you take root, over and over, and just when I see you starting to find some semblance of a comfort zone, my free fingers fill your little tight ass, sending the message to your mind, that you really have no control over what is happening to you now, and it is me exerting my dominance over you. This thought alone sends you into a frenzy.
Standing up, the weight of the world is foisted on you through my hand over your neck and I pin you down, keeping my fingers inside you and violently thrashing your kitty in an attempt to make you squirt for me. And squirt, you do.
My arm is on fire, so I can only imagine how your pussy must feel when you watch yourself lose all control of yourself and shower the furniture and my torso with your liquid serenity.
Make no mistake — you are my whore for the moment and I will stop at nothing to let you see your dirtiest side and embrace her. You’ve been the lady in the street; time to be a freak in the sheets. My pussy-soaked hand thrust into your mouth and dried across your gorgeous face, and I look you in the eyes, we acknowledge the filth we are living, and have no reason to say any words because we both know what is coming next.
I want your holes.
I want your holes and I want them all.
The grip tightens around your neck and the hard cock that is pressing into my jeans right now as I type this is thrust inside your overly exhausted kitty, yet this is the moment you’ve ached for most and you welcome being filled, no matter beat your pinkness is. No signs of slowing down, your cervix kisses death time and again as I press the hardness you’ve summoned from me as deep as you will allow.
My free hand finds your clit all alone, so I decide to make her remember me while I pound my hardness inside you, and the orgasms break you down again and again, but the sweetest ones come from within.
You cum hard and I pull out, give you the look, spit thick into my hand, and you have the thought that “oh this is gonna hurt at first.” Pressing myself into your rosebud you eye me the go ahead and before we know it your tight little ass is full with my hardness. Once again, that side of me aching to shock you pays me a visit and I thrust three fingers issue your pussy, find your G spot, and thumb your clit while squeezing your precious neck.
“Cum for me,” I say. “Cum for me.”
It doesn’t take long before you do and I know it my turn, filling your ass with my seed and pulling a plug from behind you, I block my cum from leaving you and tell you not to take it out until bedtime.
The smile that decorates your face is to die for.