I want you to find a hard, cylindrical object. A bottle of deodorant or a broom handle will do – as long as it won’t break in your hand. Now grip it as tight as you can. Squeeze. Really squeeze, like you’re trying to crush it in your grasp. Do your muscles hurt? Good – hold for a few more seconds. Now let go. Feel the tingle in the crook between your fingers and your thumb. Note the absence of that object, feel how your empty hand almost hurts now it’s not there. That is how my cunt aches ten seconds before you fuck me.
The cunt ache. It is not a metaphor, it’s a real, physical sensation. As real as the cramp you might get after an early-morning run, or the heat that warms your palm when you pick up a fresh cup of coffee.
When I say ‘my cunt aches’, this is what I mean.
When you kiss me firmly and whisper ‘good girl’, that’s just the start of it. A shiver of pleasure – literal, physical, real – will trickle through the blood that flows to my crotch. But my cunt doesn’t start to ache… not yet.
If I’m holding your cock in my mouth, I’ll probably start to get wet. But this isn’t the cunt ache I’m talking about either. I can sometimes feel the liquid soaking through my knickers, or drips of it tingle on the lips at the entrance to my cunt, but this is rare. More often this wetness is so delicate I don’t feel it, and it takes me by surprise when you slide your fingers down to touch me and moan ‘oh… wow… fuck, you’re so wet.’ It makes me glow with pride.
But the cunt ache is so much more. That ache comes much later, when you’ve made me wriggle and wait and beg for it.
Through kisses, and touches, and blow jobs, and the slapping of your naked palm on my bare skin… the ache is building. It’s a physical sensation: a grip-like pain. If you turn me on without putting anything inside me, my muscles start to tense and strain – in the absence of cock, my cunt muscles squeeze around nothing.
The ache doesn’t settle along every inch of my cunt, rather it sits at the entrance, where my wetness drips out before your eager dick slides in. Barely noticeable at first, just a gradual warming sensation: a circle of heat and mild discomfort. But the warmth builds inexorably to a burn, increasing incrementally every second you do not fuck me.
Again, I cannot stress enough: when I tell you my cunt aches, I am not speaking in riddles. It literally, physically hurts. That feeling of burning muscles and gripping-round-nothing.
It aches like your stomach when you’re hungry, like your eyes when they’re strained. Like your arms when you’ve carried six bags of shopping up three flights of stairs to help a neighbour.
My cunt aches, and that feeling is physical. It aches emptily – desperate to be filled and stretched and used.
That’s why when you kneel before me with your hands parting my thighs, and the head of your cock placed tight against the entrance to my cunt – at exactly the spot where it aches – you can have me promise anything if you’ll only relieve the pain. That’s why I buck my hips and try to push against you, and why I’ll mewl pathetically if you take that dick away. Why I don’t care who you are in that moment, or what you’ve done, or whether you love me: all I know is that you made me ache like this, and I’ll give you anything if you’ll fuck that pain away.
So remember this when I look you in the eyes and beg beg beg you to fuck me: I am not always doing it for pleasure. Sometimes I am doing it so you’ll take away this pain. Pleasure will come later, on the second stroke or third or fourth. But the first stroke? When you slide your dick all the way in? When the thick, taut head pushes through that clenching, aching heat, stretching it out and then soothing away the desperate need to be fucked? When you shove it inside – right up to the base – after making me wait for so long? That’s the stroke I need the most. That’s why the first one’s the best.
As my aching cunt finally grips and clamps round something – the cock it’s been aching for all this time.
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