Older Women Who Know How To Take Charge… Where Are You? Because I’d Love For You To Take Charge.

"i've got you" "you're okay" "it's okay i'm here" during sex,,, aahaahaa aheheeeeheee

Wake up and open your curtains. Your windows too.

Drink some tea or coffee, whatever pleases you. Notice every sip.

Have some fresh fruit and finish breakfast feeling full.

Stand outside and feel the air. Cool or warm, it will make you feel real.

Get some exercise. Yoga to soothe, running to breathe, lifting for strength.

Take care of your body. Have a nice shower and pamper as much as you want afterward. 

If you’re going to work, remember you have the chance to make anyone’s day or to ruin it. Act accordingly. 

Weed out the bad language. It’s only creating tension in your body and mind. Kind words are infinitely more appreciated.

Take some time each day to improve your mind. Keep reading that great book. Listen to an incredible piece of music. Practice an instrument or a skill. The progress is its own reward.

Pictures will help you remember how wonderful life is. But spend less time on your phone and more time seeing the world face to face. 

Go to sleep knowing that you have done well. Tomorrow is there with room to become even better.

-Notes to myself on how to become a better person this summer.

something about her thumb in my mouth while we fuck in missionary

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 would never-"

You would if you were tired enough. You would if you were hungry enough. You would if your mind and body had been worn down enough, through pain or disease or toil or violent struggle. You might if you were put on the wrong medicine, or you got the wrong kind of head injury, or you were forced to choose between someone else and yourself. You might if your livelihood was staked on it, or all your hopes and dreams. You might if you didn't know what else to do, if it's what you were taught or if nobody taught you anything else.

I have not been worn down in most of these ways. I have lived a remarkably privileged life. But I have been worn down in some ways. And they were enough to teach me that in the wrong circumstances, any of us can become someone we don't want to be. It's worth keeping that in mind.

Sometimes, I just want the quiet parts. The slow, sweet gratification of aftercare. The chance to touch you without demand, to simply be here, tending to you. Hours where I do nothing but care for you, to bathe you in the dim light of a too-warm shower, kneeling at your feet, kissing each mark, each bruise, each tender place you took so beautifully, so wantonly, so stunningly.

I want to hold you close, feel the tremble of your muscles as I run my hands over your skin, soothing, worshiping, reminding. I want to press my lips to each red streak I left behind, whispering reverence against your flesh, telling you without words how much I cherish every moment you give me.

And when we are done, I will make sure you drink, make sure you eat. Yes, you might fuss, might try to pull away. That happens sometimes. I know that. Sometimes our scenes go too deep, take too much, and the quiet afterward lets shadows creep in. But I won’t let them take you. I will be there, ready. I will battle them one by one, drive them out, keep them from pulling you under.

I will gather you into my arms, tuck you close, press my lips to your temple, then your eyelids, then finally your mouth. That’s how I will hold you, how I will be your shield, your safe place, your certainty. I will make sure you know you can give me anything, any feeling, any word, or nothing at all. If you just need me to be here, I will be here.

I will be whatever you need. Because I worship you. Because I adore you. Because I am just as devoted to you as you are to me.

And with each kiss, each touch, I thank you. Thank you for putting your trust in my hands. Thank you for letting me take you apart, and for trusting me to put you back together. I will never let us leave a scene without solidifying what we are. Without reaffirming this bond.

Because it is sacred.

And so are you.

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.”

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