Moody Sex & the Sensations Girl

It might be possible: I might be a junkie.

 

A junkie chemically dependent on all the fluctuations of mood. The pendulum has always swung wide for me—sometimes instead of steadying it, I’ve tantrumed to exaggerate its trajectory.  

The endorphins suck me in. I like to play with my flight or fight response. I like burning off anxiety in fits of intense exertions.

I like grappling the fuck out of challenges because the dopamine release floors me every time.

And then I am calm. To feel so big is exhaustive. It’s sedates me into lulled, reflective thoughts.

So many shifting feelings to pedal through and so many times I have followed a path that brings me to pinnacles. Overblasted of emotions. Cataclysmic crescendos. Delirious joys, harrowing sorrow.

It’s a hard thing to digest: my impetus is not always for the static of happiness. I am not always seeking joy. I covet experience, inspiration and those can be found in some pretty desolate places. The calm seems deadly, the lack of momentum seems dull. This is a teetering path to pursue; a long, gnawed road littered with so many blind spots of mourning at the foot of all those highs. But it’s the drama of the journey that I adore.

It keeps me busy.

It keeps my brain so satiated and happy when I have to reflect and mull over all those mindboggling feelings. How many words can pour out of my mouth to embody sadness? How many times can I replay the same moment of bliss from alternating angles? How many associations can be made from one experience to the next?

It’s when I am fighting so vigorously to keep my head afloat that I feel so alive. It’s when I know where the boundaries are that I can kick off as hard as possible in a new direction. The problem is that sometimes testing those boundaries is what is most problematic. Ladies are supposed to look but not touch.

Too hell with that.

It’s when I am fighting, proving, contending within myself that I feel most accomplished.

So closely together these quirks of character weave themselves with my sexuality, bleeding into the choices I make for sex partners, with the caliber of bedroom games we play. I like my sex like I like my life: moody, profound, ravishing, leaving me stunned in awe and desperate to reflect on it. I like sex that stretches limits—both psychological and physical. I like partners who can build off the nuances of my avante garde bedroom tastes; partners who intuitively can handle the gamut of atmospheres I want to co-create. Let’s play with tenderness, humiliation, joy, carnal shame for needing each other. Let’s believe we aren’t isolated souls. Let’s probe that ethereal line of pleasure and pain and see how each new sexual experience shifts the parameters of that line.

Let’s play with pleasure for pleasure’s sake. Let’s chase where it goes. Let’s broadcast emotions big and wide and subtle and nuanced. Let’s be mean and sweet and unregretful in either.

I like my sex to be about sensation, about moments of affect that alter my neurons; sex that makes me covet my partner for drawing those things to the surface. I like sex that makes me yearn to have it happen all over again precisely at the conclusion; sex that bathes me in the warm lashes of oxytocin, making me feel so in love it’s toxic.  I love my partners most for when they are inspired, uninhibited, and flexible amongst the whims of arousal. I love my partners most when we both unabashedly charge into bliss, forgetting etiquette, forgetting gender roles, just fucking like it’s fighting. Fucking like it’s primal, bestial, necessary. Fucking like we have never been alive until now.

I love my partners most when they can overwhelm all my safeguards. When I am bludgeoned so furiously with feelings that I enter immaculate quietude. Thunderous feelings to birth controlled thought. I dissolve into experience. Heaven on earth.

I am a goddess in a female body, finding salvation in the hands of sex. Finding nirvana in the drama that my lover dishes out, in the way we react, in the way we play sex.

A Letter To My Lover

Will you, please, give me a very, very hard spanking?

…actually hard is perhaps not the right word. I want you to spank me for a very, very long time. Bare bottomed. Over your knees. Languid. Teasingly.

Menacing.

Building.

Cruel.

I want you to keep going at a steady pace, making both of my ass cheeks flame up into crimson. I want you to keep going until your hand prints are slightly raise off my skin, radiating a warmth like a phantom outline of viciousness. I want you to take your time, savoring each smack, each whimper, each time I gasp like you’ve beaten the air out of my lungs.

I want you to keep going until I linger in that threshold of subspace. I want you to keep going until the quietude of overstimulation takes over my body and my responses become muted and yielding. I want you to keep going until I fall out the other end of subspace…

…I want you to keep going until I cry.

I want you to spank me until hot tears spill down my face and I am utterly overwhelmed with the sounds, sights, and smacks of you. I want you to going until I am leaking from both sides of my body.

And it’s in this place of utter vulnerability, in this place where my psyche and heart are most impressionable, in tears, in shambles, with a burning ass that pulsates with violence: I want you to feed me your cock. I want your cock to pacify my sobs. I want you to do it sweetly, gently, kindly, deeply.

Lovingly.

Feed me your cock to make it better.

And when your cock is throbbing and ready and when you can no longer stand waiting to ravish me, I want you to have your way with me. I want your cock so deep inside my pussy—not my ass, not this time—in my very wet and trembling pussy.  I want to feel the weight of you on top of my body, your hips thrusting up against mine. I want you to kiss me deeply. Urgently, genuinely, intensely. I want your hands to hold my body tightly, my legs wrapped round your back to aid the depth of your thrusts. I want your exhalations to be my next inhalation. I want to get overwhelmed by your scent, your movements, by how your make me feel so coveted and so safe and so scared and so alive all at the same time. I want to feel whatever feelings are meant in this moment; to laugh, to cry, to scream, to moan, to melt.

I want to drown in the pleasure and pain of it all.

I want you to cum so deep inside my pussy. After you’ve beaten me until I burst into tears. And after you’ve made it better. And after you’ve made me surrender to the fact that you make me feel profound emotions…

…and for that, I love you.

….So will you, please, spank me very, very hard?