Category Archives: Filthy ones
The tighter you hold me, the harder I struggle
Is there any advice you could give your partner(s) that applies equally to your sexual life and your romantic life? As a general rule, my answer would be ‘no’, because in bed I want to be used and degraded but outside it I want support and kindness and equality. However, recently I realised there’s one broad rule that might apply to almost every aspect of interacting with me: the tighter you hold me, the harder I struggle.
This post features discussion of anxiety and also a real-life scene with elements of consensual non-consent. I know, right? I contain multitudes. If you like the idea of struggle-fucking as described in this post, know you’re gonna need to put the work in first: talk to your partner in detail about what you both want, and how you can withdraw consent if you want to.
In which he makes me say ‘please’
He’s really cool, of course. Sweet and thoughtful and politically angry in good ways, not to mention kind and fun. He’s an excellent cook and he has lovely hands and he sometimes picks me up which makes me squirm. But I think, if pressed, what I like best about him at this very moment is that sometimes he makes me say ‘please.’
Fuckdrunk: sometimes when I’m fucking, I lose my fucking mind
I am fuckdrunk yet again. My legs are limp and my muscles weak and my throat is parched and all I can feel is the throbbing satisfaction in my cunt. For a split second I wonder if I’m making poor decisions, then I realise that fuckdrunk me could not possibly care less. Thinking straight is not as fun as being high on dick.
Begging for cum: is it hot enough to be worth risking pressure?
There’s usually a moment during a fuck where I can sense a change in pace from the dude who is fucking me: a slight increase in speed, or a pause, that can mean he’s on the verge of coming. At this point, what I really want to do is start begging for cum. Tell him ‘please god yes fucking squirt your cum inside me.’ But it’s a pretty risky strategy.
Flash paper: there we are
Have you ever held the end of a lit cigarette to a crumpled ball of flash paper? There’s this brief period of time between the moment when you touch it to when it catches fire, and in that second it could be that the paper isn’t special at all – maybe this is just normal paper, which will burn slow and steady instead of exploding into light. Then wait… beat… FLASH. A sudden whoosh of bright light and fizz. You have to chuck it up in the air quickly so it doesn’t burn your hand, and the release and catharsis of watching it burn eclipses anything that came before. The other day I was fucking a guy and he whispered something in my ear.