He’s not fucking you, he’s using you to fuck himself. Look at his tightly-closed eyes, his thrown-back head. You can study him at your leisure; right now you’re so far over his horizon, he can’t even see you in his mind’s eye. Look at how his pursed mouth sharpens his cheekbones and squares his jaw. Isn’t he beautiful, isn’t he delicious? You’re almost tempted to clench your cunt muscles around him to see the expression you love so much; of astounded, almost-pained intensity but you don’t want to draw attention to your attention just now; there’s too much perverted pleasure in your non-participation. Don’t make a sound, don’t move a muscle fuckdoll, your task is to lie passive and silent while he masturbates furiously using your cunt as an accessory.
It’s been three days since I had an orgasm and while I’m not yet at the point of desperation; I’m wandering around in a permanent state of low-level arousal with kinky mind-porn playing almost continually in the back of my mind. (More so than usual, that is).
The Fella and I have been binge-watching ‘Sons of Anarchy’ lately. I’m enjoying it very much, the plot twists are clever and the characters are complex. It’s violent and pretty fucking harsh in places, and that’s what triggered this blog post.
Without going into detail that might reveal spoilers, there are some scenes of nonconsensual sexual activity, quite graphically depicted. Gratuitously, one might say, considering that this is fiction and not documentary; what is the necessity to portray for entertainment the awful things that people might do to each other? Perhaps it’s for titillation – and this is where the title of this post comes in for me.
Oh yes. Oh definitely. I didn’t know this had an actual name until I started this Pervember exercise, but this is certainly a significant one for me.
I’m a good girl, aren’t I? See how hard I work, to bring you joy and make you smile. To cause your groans of pleasure. To taste abandonment and indulgence. I’m on my knees for you; mouth open, eyes wide, beseeching you to use me for your satisfaction. I’m stretched and bound for you, open and willing, offering myself for your delectation. I need your words of appreciation. I crave your lustful gaze. I long for your admiration.
CW: this post describes disturbing feelings and harm-related imagery. Please, if that will distress you, don’t read any further. Always take care of yourselves and each other.
I had a difficult end to my day. Things got away from me. I panicked.
Panic, for me, manifests as anger. In fact, most disturbances to my emotional stability become anger at some point, whether as waypoint or destination. I’ve learned to recognise it for what it, although getting a grip on it still eludes me.
I call it the demon.
(I’m ok now, by the way. Feeling much better)