Word Porn: And The Dance We Dance

[overlay output image]
[overlay output image]

Every day, new women find this blog.

I often hear about it, and what it does to them to read these posts. I am so fucking fortunate and thankful for every single message, comment, ask, like, or interaction of any sort.

Women are just different than men. They are from Venus; men are idiots.

Men want a picture and a napkin. Ladies want the experience.

I think, above everything else, the thing I am most thankful for in discovering writing erotica is really tapping into what makes a woman’s erotic clock tick.

She wants the words. The story. The idea. She wants the entire experience. She wants it done well. She is no easy sell.

But my fucking God she is worth every last bit of effort.

The words. The ideas.

Couple that with some images to crystallize the picture in her mind and she is off to the races, with a hand down between her legs, or maybe a vibrator, imagining herself with some man, until she releases an orgasm that has been building up inside her like she was holding her breath.

Her day just ended with a smile. Mission accomplished: my job is done.

You came for Daddy and you didn’t even realize it.

God blessed me with the ability to not only recognize women’s unique fantasy but to put into words and pictures, a way to bring this fantasy to life.

Each female follower that loses herself in my dirty mind dances a dance with me, just her and I, for a brief moment in time, and it’s the whole reason I circle back here every chance I get.

It makes her day better. It makes mine. Just enough to make some days bearable.

I recognize that she is understanding at this very moment, at this very time, as she reads from left to right, top to bottom, I am giving her my vulnerability.

I am giving you, My heart, My mind, My innermost secrets. And just enough of me to still be seen as this mysterious, allusive, hopefully, interesting man.

This man. He gives you a little more every time.

For example, He shaves his head every morning. Now the images above make sense.

He imagines grabbing you. Touching you. He imagines, that you imagine…

Him grabbing you by the hair. Two hands encompassing your neck. Hair yanked hard again.

Fingering your soaked clit until you buckle for him. Driving his wet fingers inside you and running his fingertips up against your G spot repeatedly until your hips twist and you cum one more time for the bald mystery man.

Cum for me Kitten. Do it. Good Girl.

He imagines that you imagine being the girl above, unable to move, restrained in her ability to move, just taking the hard cock deep inside you as you find a sense of freedom in being forced to stay immobile.

Relentlessly pounded, arms held in place. Can’t move. But don’t want to either.

Until. Until another, much more intense orgasm encompasses you and you see the iris of the man staring back at you is one of the utmost intense passion.

He would give you his soul at this moment if he could.

But instead, he floods your insides with his sacred seed and you see in his face that he means it.

His commitment. His seed. I am no “walk away” man. Whatever happens. I’m here. No. Matter. What.

The dance we dance. Every night as you unlock your phone, click your app, wait for a time to be alone, and touch that beautiful fucking pussy I would give anything to devour.

Touch, sweetheart. Nobody is looking.

Our dance. It’s a beautiful one. I love this Word Porn I give you. I love the sexual ideas you give me right back.

Take my hand. Dance with me.

Love,
 -TRD



Originally published at The Romantic Dominant.