Tell me you want me. Tell me how you want me, and when, and where. Make it graphic, filthy, commanding – (and if you’re telling me in writing, please use apostrophes and correct verb conjugation).
More than pictures, more than sound, I love to read filth. I especially love to read well-written filth. Most of all, I adore well-written filth that’s directed specifically at me.
TW: some of these fantasies involve totally make-believe scenarios of non-consensual sex. Consent is definitely and always necessary IRL, but inside my head I am safe to explore darker themes without damage. If the idea makes you uncomfortable or distressed then this blog post is not for you, please don’t read on. Always take care of yourselves and each other.
What do you think about when you’re having a wank? Someone asked me this a long time ago and my response was erm; fucking, duh….isn’t that what everyone thinks about?
In the house of my psyche, she resides below ground level. Down in the deepest cellar, in her soft-furnished boudoir she sprawls across a four-poster bed, naked and tousle-haired and ready for mischief. Across her skin are scrawled the scars of a hundred lessons imperfectly-learned; crossed-out names and instructions ignored. She’ll flaunt them with insouciance, they are a challenge and a come-on. “Can’t catch me” they mock silently; and “is that all you’ve got?”.
After reading Jadis Liddell’s inspiring post about cock-sucking skills, my mind started working in a kinky direction (no change there then) and I envisioned cock-sucking lessons with a stern Mistress. Obviously, at that point I had to kick off my knickers and grab a big flexible silicone dildo to properly explore the scenario in my mind. After two – one leisurely and one frenzied – orgasms, I’d honed the scene to my liking. This is the result.
I’m a terrible show-off and teacher’s pet. I just have to be top of the class, otherwise I feel….cheated. Sitting here with my fellow-students at these desks, I can feel that familiar driving need to excel, setting my jaw and squaring my shoulders. We are not here to learn History or Maths or Physics. We are here to hone our oral skills. And I’m not talking about a debating club.
I love a man in a suit. Well, I love the idea of a man in a suit anyway – sadly many actual men who habitually wear suits are dickheads.
So, hello unknown Men In Suits. Do you know what the sight of you does to me? Can you tell what’s going on in my head when I catch sight of you?
A well-fitted suit speaks to me of power, authority and responsibility. I want to submit to that power, feel that authority. I yearn to break through that professional detachment and make you forget your responsibilities until you can see only me, feel only me, want only what I can offer you.