Sometimes I just miss you

Texts during work, right after we had lunch together:

“...And you’re sexy.”
“Why?”
“Hahaha, guess where I am in my cycle?”
“Duh. Lol”
“But you really are sexy.”
“I think you just miss me”

Ithinkyoujustmissme.

Oh. It’s impossible, the missing. How I miss you. Even though you are right there, weaving in and out of my life, and I am right there, weaving in and out of yours. It’s unreal, the missing. But there it is, eating up my spine alive.

I want us to talk and talk and talk and talk and talk and talk and talk. TALK. Oh how we can fucking talk. I want each and every word to evaporate off our skin and then thunder down so hard we scramble under the covers. Then I want your skin and your scent and your taste and your breath. Oh your breath, oscillating into my mine. Oh your breath, building up all the parts of me I cannot see. I want the joy of feeling strange parts of us colliding: my soles on your undulating back, your chin nuzzling into my clavicle, your lips on the precipices of my hips. I want you spilled into me, forgetting yourself inside of me. I want to believe holding those pieces guards against how much I’ll miss you when real life demands work and responsibility.

I want to believe I could exhaust myself here on your body. That the words and the love and the lust and the energy could shut me down, cool me off, leave me not wanting so much. But it never happens. The words rise between us, like steam, again and again and again, no matter how many times it seems like we strained them all out.

The words rise and then, so do you. And I melt under the mechanics we cannot see. A puddle of awe, made from words. Words that came from wanting.

And the wanting that started because I miss you more than I can say.

The Rival Game

“I like feeling inadequate” he whispers from behind as his cock slowly glides in and out my pussy. “I don’t know why, I just do. I like feeling inadequate. Like I can’t please you.”

We’ve played this game before. The imaginary rival game. We steal the names of my past lovers and make them come alive which each of his thrusts. I tell him that their cocks are better and more resilient; that they could fuck me all night long. He asks repeatedly to tell me about all the times other men have been able to fuck my ass. And I don’t give details as much as I give him my lust-struck face, riddled with the memory of all those past orgasms. He struggles in response, cock constricted with jealousy. Then I tell him why he’s not allowed to fuck my ass at all.

And then he comes.

He tells me after that he would never be able to bear it if I was really fucking another man. That the jealousy would eat him alive. And I tell him that there will never be another man.

We’ve played this game the other way around. The real rival game. We borrow the real names of his other loves and let them metaphorically lay down next to me while he fingers my cunt.

“I’m sorry I get in the way so often” I croon, his knuckles digging into my wet flesh.

“You’re sorry you get in the way of what?” he says, eliciting the secrets that build up under my skin.

“I’m sorry I get in the way of your other relationship”.

“Whose?” he’s says, pumping deeper into my pussy.

I say her name with his fingers burrowing deeper, consumed with all my wet arousal. She is a real person and they have present day commitments. This is not ancient history, the way it is when we play this game the other way around. I say her name and tell him that sometimes I just get jealous, that is why I get in the way.

He fingers my cunt and tells me of his other loves. He tells me what they do. If I were to say those things to him about my other loves he would shot his load under the fantasy of his inadequacy.

But that is not how I cum when we play this real game the other way around.

I cum under the reality that my lover is a wanted man.

A quality man, woven from empathy and compassion. He has other lovers because he can build depth and build safety and it’s natural for other women to want to get as close as possible to him. It’s natural to want to touch something so refined. It’s natural to want to maintain a serious relationship with such a man and so it’s natural that each of his lovers is not a casual one-night stand.

When we play the rival game when I’m pitted against the potentials of all his present day lovers, I never orgasm to a feeling of inadequacy. I cum under the delicious reality that my lover is beautiful and that the presence of other women just confirms that reality.

The rivals do not make me feel worthless. Instead, they magnify his worth.

And so I cum like a lunatic, thinking of him with his other lovers, because I intuitively understand he’s a man with a lot of love to give, and even if sometimes I can feel jealousy it doesn’t erode my ability to access how incredible luckily I am to have sex with a man who’s attention is so coveted.

When we play the rival game, I don’t enjoy feeling inadequate the way he does.
I enjoy experiencing who he is and all the intensely explosive emotions that go with it.

Daddy & Julie

“You’ll say it, princess, when you’re coming.”

He swept the hair out of her eyes and cupped her already lifted chin. She was invariably willful and he smiled at her stoicism. Even now, with her naked limbs stretched wide across the bed, she was stubbornly engaged. Her eyes gleamed fire and she pursed her lips when their gazes met.

“Tell me you’ll say it, Julie” he said forcefully.

“Fine, daddy. Fine, I’ll say it.”

She rotated her hips upwards, a fidget made of pure arousal. The lips between her legs were alive and she offered herself like a skilled toreador. Her body was unaware of its restraints, her focus single-minded and obsessive for his attention. Her mouth opened and silently screamed for touch, her eyebrows perked in infatuation. He studied the curves of her breasts, the way her breathe undulated from her hair to her toes, the tumble of soft blonde fur near her navel. She was such a woman, bound and yet so active, and he loved how easily she could abandon herself and leave only the most well-worn characteristic behind: neediness, impatience, desire.  

He smiled at her exquisiteness and affectionately stroked her belly. She wiggled her pelvis towards his fingers.

“Such a little whore for your daddy”.

The tender words lingered in the atmosphere as his belt sliced through the bedroom and seared a near-immediate welt to Julie’s inner thigh.

“Oooooppph” she murmured.

But her skin drank the injury and it spread his adoring contradiction throughout each cell of her body. Again and again the belt met her flesh, making bands of purple and pink on her abdomen, thighs, chest. Julie sang with each strike but her steadied her limbs for his next advance. He loved the vigor of her body, its indomitable robustness. As if her body was built solely to withstand the inhumanity of his love.

“That’s my good girl” he whispered as the belt fell quiet again by his side.

With glossed eyes, she craned her neck off the mattress, sweat mingling along her hair line. “Daddy…” she crooned. He knew that sultry tone, knew the temptation and innocence she tried to mask in it; the tone she always used to dissuade him from abuse. He kneeled next to her face and knotted his hand through her hair.

“Baby wants daddy to be nice?”

Before she could answer, he thrust his tongue into her open mouth. She met his lips with fury and urgency and moaned each time she exhaled. When he broke their kiss, he looped the belt around her neck and pulled tight, until her eyes woke to a world with less oxygen.

The leather band twisted into his fist and his free hand traveled to the warm markings on her thighs. She flinched instinctual under his investigation.

“No. Don’t move! Let daddy see what he’s done to you.”

Her animation surrendered itself as his free hand spread her pussy lips, revealing a watery invitation between. He rubbed two fingers between the inner and outer labia, his fingers engulfed with her fluid. He held her pussy open and stared into her eyes.

 “Why are you so wet, baby?”

This was where she struggled. It was not the metal chains or the impossible positions he bound her to. It was not the beatings or the impossible waiting. It was finding words when he had stripped her of her intelligence.

 “…Because…” she started “…. Because…"

“Because why baby?”

“….because…. you’re… touching me, daddy”

“And you like that, baby? You like daddy coming into your room, ripping off your jammies, holding open your dripping cunt, like you’re an animal, like you’re a whore who can’t control her own desire? You like that daddy leaves you alone all day and strangles you awake at night?”

Julie’s mouth pouted open, all of her expression flooded in stimulation. “Yes… daddy…yes…”

“And you like it when daddy treats your pussy like this?”

She sharply inhaled as he flicked the end of his belt onto her defenseless cunt. Each whack made her entire body wince and yield a galaxy of whimpers. His aim was general but with every bullseye to her clit Julie bucked with shock. She could not decide if his violence was pleasurable or painful and her facial expression short-circuited from the indecision. To confuse her further, he drove his fingers into her hole and he inwardly smiled when her noises drop several decibels, a hallmark of her deep arousal.

“There’s a good girl,” he said lovingly as he jerked the belt around her neck.

Her eyes whipped and her whole body erupted fuchsia. He rhythmically pumped two fingers in and out of her pussy and kept the belt taut in his other hand.  Instinctively her pussy clenched and released with his fingers’ movement and a deluge cascaded out of her. As he felt her gspot swell and lower itself, he loosened the snare of the belt. 

“Oh, look. There’s baby’s spot. Right there. Who’s spot is this baby?” He tapped his fingers to emphasize his question. Her eyes transfixed towards the ceiling, her soul captivated by his command. She loved him for touching a fragment of her body that she could never touch or see herself.  

“…it’s yours….” she whispered.

“Who’s?” His fingers coiled upwards and rooted into her swelling.

“Fuck. Daddy’s! It’s yours. It’s daddy’s spot!” The words came out in a tornado of relief. It was daddy’s spot. It was and would always be daddy’s spot no matter how long he left her alone.

“That’s a good girl, Julie. Daddy’s going to unchain your arms now. Touch your pussy. Show daddy how you rub your clitty.”

She didn’t feel the pain that the red marks around her wrist implied. Dutifully, she plied her pussy apart and easily found her clit, soaked and awake. Her fingers circled around the outer edges and he slipped his fingers through the grooves of her pussy. Her hips pulsated and her feet pulled against the remaining restraints, the endorphins completely vanquishing the tension around her ankles. He watched as her nipples rose and deepened in color, announced the approaching of her orgasm.

“Someone’s close to cumming, baby.” He maintained steady assault on her pussy even though she slowed the circling of her clit.

“No, keep going baby. You’re going to come and you’re going to say it” he said matter-of-factly.

Julie mouth twitched in discomfort, the most genuine tell of vulnerability she had shown all evening. Her hands obeyed and spun in pace with his cues, while she hesitated with her mouth.

“You’re going to say Julie. Right as you’re coming. Do you hear me!” He yanked his hand out of pussy and let down a flurry of smacks on her open gaping hole.

“…Yes! … Daddy! Please. Yes! I’ll say it!” Julie panted her words, her whole face flush with deliberation.

He slammed his hand back up against her gspot and she screeched. With his other hand he slid his cock outside of his boxers and dragged his palm across his girth. Julie’s want amplified when she saw the glisten head.

“Good little slut. Keep rubbing your clit.” He kissed the insides of her thighs as he methodically pumped her pussy. He kissed the bruises on her belly and the sucked each nipple affectionately. He kissed up to her ear and let the warmth of his breath caress her face.

“I know you’re close baby” he said sweetly “You’re going to say it. If you don’t, no more fuckies for you for the next week.”

Julie’s body reared at the threat as the avalanche of her orgasm threatening to suffocate her. She would say it. She would have to. He fingered her faster and her eyes dilated in desire.  

“Besides, you love daddy” he whispered “and you want to show daddy that you’re his best girl.”

The words hurled her over the edge.

“Thank you daddy!” she began as her pussy clenched around his fingers, her limbs constricted in ecstasy.

“Thank you what, daddy?” he said with a smirk.

“Thank you for fucking her before fucking me!”, she screamed, her shame completely evaporated, her body thrashing under her orgasm.

 “Thank you daddy for fucking her before me!” she moaned again, her syllables softened with lust.

“That’s a good girl!” he snarled as he buried his cock deep inside her pussy.