Yearning For Being Talked Through It Like, One Hand Working Between My Thighs As They Look Into My Hazy

being treated with so much love and care while fucked in the most disgusting way is peak

The exposed neck: from the accessory nerve (emerging) to the vocal fold. © Mosby/McMinn

I want to help her, not because I think she’s incapable, but because she deserves to be taken care of.

Yeah you’re perfectly capable of opening a door by yourself, but isn’t it just nice if I hold it open for you instead? I know you’re strong enough to carry your own bags, but let me lighten the load anyway. You can cook a nice meal, but what if you just relax on the couch, and let me make it for you? You might not really need a hug in this moment, but I can give you one anyway, because hugs aren’t just for when you feel bad. I’m well aware that you’re capable of doing simple tasks, like making your bed, or folding your laundry. I’d just like to do it for you anyway.

I just want to take care of her in the simplest of ways, taking care of the little things.

the duality of a sleepy girl..

on the one hand i want so desperately to cuddle her.. want to hold her in my arms and want to be held.. want to hear the slow in and out of her breathing.. i want to be so safe and content just laying there in the peace of the morning.. i want sleepy kisses and little smiles and giggles and the feel of her soft skin against mine...

and on the other hand i can't help but picture waking up to her voice soft but commanding "open" and sleepily opening my mouth.. to find her fingers stuffed in.. and i'd be so sleepy i'd take a few seconds of gentle sucking to register what that taste is.. then i'm sucking and licking so eagerly and whining when she pulls them out to give me more to taste..

I love the sweet in-between.

When your body is jolting forward with every deep, punishing thrust, the headboard slamming in rhythm against the wall. Your breath comes in choked, stuttering gasps, and I can see your arms trembling from holding on.

But my voice?

Oh, it’s as soft as a caress. Honeyed. Sweet. Soothing. Like I’m whispering bedtime stories while I’m fucking the thoughts out of your pretty little head.

“Oh, baby… are you fussing again?” I coo gently as I thrust harder, sharp and deep. “You’re squirming so much… does it feel too good?”

You cry out, high and broken, but you don’t answer. So, I press my hand to the small of your back, guiding your arch just a little deeper, the angle cruel in how perfectly it hits you.

“Shh, it’s okay,” I hushes you, “just let it happen, sweetheart.”

Your body jerks again as I drive into you, relentless. Your fingers claw at the sheets, your moans spilling into whines, into pleads, into nothing coherent.

And I just smile.

“You’re doing so good for Mommy,” I whisper like it’s a secret. “Taking me so well. I knew you would.”

You try to lift your head, maybe to speak, but my hand tangles gently in your hair and presses your cheek back down to the pillow, slow. Loving. Uncompromising.

“Don’t think, baby.” Another deep thrust. “You don’t have to think at all. Let Mommy do the thinking for you.”

You sob into the sheets and I kiss your shoulder, so tenderly it’s almost cruel.

“That’s my good girl,” I breathe. “So sensitive. So full.”

My pace doesn’t let up. I watch your thighs tremble, your back shine with sweat, your poor, ruined pussy sucking the strap back in every time I pull out.

And still I whisper.

“You're my favorite thing to come home to.” “You sound so pretty when you cry.” “I’ll take care of you after, I promise… just a little longer, okay?”

You break around me, body tensing, voice gone, pleasure ripping through you in a wave you couldn’t stop if you tried.

And I moan softly, lovingly.

“There you go, baby… that’s it. That’s what Mommy wanted.”

yes yes mean scary sadists are great but what about sadists that smile and sweet talk you while they wreck your shit? sadists that speak in a sing songy voice while making you cry, sadists that giggle when you beg for mercy, sadists that can't help but express joy while they're making you suffer, sadists that strike fear in your heart every time you see their wicked grins?

want to put a vibrator in you with the setting on as low as it goes, knowing damn well it’s not nearly enough to get you off, and watch as you frantically grind yourself on me. to hear every pathetic whimper fall from your lips as you fuck yourself against my crotch.

please… i can’t

you’d sob and buck your hips oh so desperately. but no, watching you fall apart against me is the best part my love. we’re going to be here as long as it takes.

i'm so attracted to emotional intelligence like damn the way you actually listen and communicate turns me on

the goal is to fuck you like a little slut while I continuously reassure my love and adoration for your entire existence.

anger doesn’t make you a bad person. your darkest feelings on your worst days don’t make you a bad person- you don’t have to navigate living with trauma with only positivity and nobody should expect that from you