Love Cry

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He says I don’t know how to be playful…he wants lightness, flirting, a tease. I want death, weight, no turning back. I play his game, still hoping somewhere in him exists what I want. It has come out occasionally–once he bit my ass so many times, so hard, that I couldn’t sit down for days. He spanked me, over and over–I barely felt it. I felt a little sick later, looking at the bruises. I felt harmed, hurt–I had let him, I wanted him to. All I could do was put ice on my soreness and lie in bed.

The next time, he wanted to put his hand all the way in me; I knew he would fit, I used to get my husband to do that. But either his hand is bigger or I’ve gotten smaller somehow, because it hurt, and he could barely get it in; my husband could get his in all the way up to his elbow. He went slowly, which almost hurt more–I tried to make him do it harder, get the pain over with, but he was enjoying working himself in bit by bit.

When his hand was all in, he looked at me; “Do you like this? I do, a lot.” I nodded, but what I really liked was his face in that moment. He looked like an angel; I don’t know how else to describe it. He was alight with a kind of awe, and I could see his 18 year old self there, in the 54 year old. I’ve never said I love him, but I couldn’t help saying then, “I love your face; I love it right now.” Tekirdağ Escort He smiled, then looked back to where he had touched my center–back to the mystery.

I let him read one of my stories, when he asked; it disturbed and aroused him. He wonders if he is too vanilla for me, if he can be the man I want. It makes me think of the line in a song, “It took all the man in me to be the dog you wanted me to be”; yes. I want all of him, all he can give. I love to watch him fucking me, when he’s on top–forehead crinkled and sweaty, face flushed, arms veiny with the effort. I could look at him forever as he fucks.

It feels like a love story, as I think about how much I want to say–how I love the way he comes, the sounds he makes, what his face and body do. I want to know where he goes, what he is thinking as he slows down, sliding gently in and out, trying to make the feeling last. What scenes play inside his closed eyes? He always uses the word, “shattering” to describe his orgasm; what does that feel like?

I have only come with him a few times. It’s gotten harder to climax as I am older, and I still can feel ashamed of how long it usually takes, so I had begun faking it. I wasn’t sure it was totally false; it felt good, and wasn’t nothing, it just wasn’t my usual orgasm.

So I started Tekirdağ Escort Bayan masturbating when I don’t climax during sex, and he likes to see that; next I told him I need to use my vibrator, that it is the only reliable way for me to orgasm. It turns out he enjoys that a lot–the vibration feels good on his cock, too. He often comes a first time, then when I use the vibrator, he gets hard again watching me and joins in. He says he loves how I reach for my pleasure, how I don’t give up.

One time he had his hand in me, up to the wrist; he decided his cock would fit, too–and it did. It still hurts a little, but that is fading; I can tell fairly soon it won’t, and all that will be left is the intense pleasure of being filled. Why do I like that so much? I don’t know–I love the feeling of being split open by him, spread as wide as I can.

I want him to spread me on himself like butter, like sweet jam, like marrow. Once he whispered that he likes the way I submit to him; I almost came, just hearing that. He has no idea, I don’t think, of what he could ask of me. Of what I would do. The lengths I would go to.

I know I still scare him some; it makes me smile. It feels powerful, like I have a secret he wonders at. I revel in what looks like my debasement, because I know somehow Escort Tekirdağ that I’m in control; I can make things happen in him. It feels like I am starting to understand a little how that dynamic works.

He’s not a naturally dominant man, so this is a constant pushing of his boundaries. Where is his limit, the end of where he will go? Where is mine? I miss him right now, miss his smell and his skin and his weight on me.

I want sensation, to feel alive; I called a tattoo place today, to make an appointment. I need release. I need salvation. I need marking. I need bruising. I am starting to understand my client a little, the one who cuts herself.

He pulls back from my need, my intensity; I understand. It’s hard to bear, hard to stay in it. I would eat him, take him in fully if I could. I know if he let himself, he would see he is the same. The way he attacks my breasts, suckling and pulling me into his mouth, shows me that. He is so hungry for mother, for that level of filling.

He says he is afraid he will stay with me just for the sex, because he is so attracted; I’m not what he wants long-term, but he can’t deny what passes between us. What stories our bodies tell each other. During a day I will think about him, and my cunt spasms with desire; I am always wet when he touches me. Always. I tell him, “I will never say no to you”, and when I touch him, I tell him mentally that I love him. I want that to sink into his body along with my caresses, like a prayer.

There is so much he doesn’t know about me. So much I have to learn as well. I want him right now, as I type this. He has no idea.

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