It’s easy to write about the big things that are sexy: anal sex, spanking, throatfucking. The kind of things you’d add to your bucket list, as you tense your muscles to try and work out the discomfort of extreme arousal. The pervy blog staples:
Threesomes. Bukkake. The vision of you pulling your knickers to one side and sliding neatly down onto a strap on. Right to the hilt. Hard.
The minutiae are tricky, though, because there’s less in the way of detail, there are just the details themselves:
- What that particular person’s nipples look like.
- The sound of a belt being pulled quickly through the loops of his jeans.
- The feel of cold tiles on your knees. A pain that means more pleasure’s coming.
- A droplet of sweat, mid-fuck, collecting in the crook of his neck. Pulling him in closer and sticking the tip of your tongue out to taste it.
But occasionally I have to write about the detail, because the detail’s what’s on my mind. And right now, the only detail I’m interested in is the sensation of my arse jiggling when he smacks it.
The ripple of the feeling as it spreads. The satisfaction of picturing what it looks like in my knickers, as the waves jiggle my flesh.
Once again, harder. And the movement lasts for longer. Like a physical echo.
His flat, hard, heavy palm making contact, then sweeping down out of the stroke, leaving my arse wobbling deliciously behind it.
Or – perhaps even better – the simple, decisive smacks after which he leaves his hand right where it is. Squeezing slightly to mute the movement. A whack that turns to a grip, that turns to just the right kind of grope – middle two fingers pushing the fabric of my knickers into the crack of my arse. Defining it. Outlining the shape.
To make for a better visual when he smacks it – hard – again.