Mama Knows Best

“No, keep it on please.”

Your hands slide up my ribs, fingernails pushing into the satin of my bra. I arch my back and roll my hips over your pelvic bones, thighs saddling over yours. Your tongue curls over your teeth, eyes desirous and half-closed.

“I love how your skin looks in red” you croon. I lean forward, full white cleavage spilling over red fabric, undulating inches from your face. Your hips respond and thrust upwards, slowly, wanting. Your mouth, open just enough, waiting and eager. With one quick motion, I free one breast, nipple protruding over satin. It disappears in your hungry mouth, your eyes closed as if praying, your suckles rhythmic and primal. That face you make sucking my tits makes my pussy spasms, making the most innocence of connections deeply erotic.

“Mmm, such a hungry baby boy. Eat. Baby eat. Show mama how big boys eat”

And you moan, tits nearly suffocating you, desperate to signal approval, desperate to show your arousal. You are a mama’s boy, the best boy, and mama is the only one who can see how far you roam, the only one who’s disapproval matters to your endlessly curious ears.

Mama’s is the only love you need to survive.

The night unfolds and mama demands the confessions of your wandering hands, the truth of your allegiance when you’re out of mama’s gaze. Mama sucks you clean while you tell her about the tight pussy from Monday night. Mama gets you so close to the madness of orgasm, overstimulated with your confession and Mama’s approval. But then Mama meets your honesty with abrupt objection: teeth across your raging cock, palms pummeling your flesh, with denial to enter her wet, scolding hot pussy. Mama makes you wait, your cock aching and untouched, while she plunges a black cock in and out of her pussy. Mama says you’re not big enough, not man enough, too little to fill her needs. Mama makes you wait, fully erect and aroused with punishment.

Mama makes you wait.

Mama makes you watch as she bends over and slides her fingers into her asshole, her pussy glistening below. And then she says “Come, come here baby. Go slow, baby, go slow.”

But there is no slow. You are in completely with one thrust; Mama’s already too prepared for her big boy.

“Am I in your ass Mama? Really Mama?” Your voice is guttural, charged with long lost youth.

“Yes, but baby, be you. No more mama. Be you.”

I say your name.

I say it again and again as the room distorted with pleasure, as you abandon your little boy and step back into the grown man of my dreams. My spine rattles, my flesh bounces, everything a reverberation of your thrusts.

“Fuck. Pull my hair!”

The words are shaken out of my body, frenzied from your jostling. One hand scoops my hair, the other wraps around my throat, growing progressively tighter as the seconds pass. My body explodes endorphins, turns hot pink in response. My ass clenches around your throbbing cock, your thrusts shortened and hurried from pleasure.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum!”

I still my body as you cum, let you buck, free and wild. Your hands clutch all over my body, knuckles on ribs, nails on hips. You groan like an animal, like the manliest of men, like you are so severely fueled by testosterone that you will cry. You bite my shoulder and then my neck, your noises gruff and thankful.

I am steady, spine arched, ass receptive and full of your cum. I am steady as you unravel. You bite me again, as if I am precious, as if I am the only woman who will ever be able to extract that kind of cum.

In all the fantastical lying of our sex, perhaps that’s the deepest truth.

Where the fuck am I on this Kink Spectrum?

Exploring sexuality is not new for me. I’ve been probing those borders for as long as I can remember; I was that kid whose curiosity bled beyond what we usually consider "childhood interests".  So in many ways my sexuality is almost as old I am. I've dragged it almost everywhere in my life and I've watched it shift and change, revert and move forward.

Kink is also not so new for me, though my awareness of it is younger than my awareness of my sexuality. I’ve had a lot of visceral and mind-altering sex. I’ve played with power, service, dipped in and out of roles. I’ve tongued cock and pussy, groped multiple limbs at once. I’ve been beaten and bruised, probed and pulled apart. These are all glorious and beautiful moments, where I’ve connected deeply with other people; moments that triggered my greatest growth in how I understand myself and how I express love.

For a very long time, I believed I was submissive. I liked the idea of being a submissive, in fact I still love that idea: to be at the mercy of an unyielding and powerful dominant, to be flooded in the feelings of it, to shine with love for him even in the midst of cruelty. I’m infatuated by that image and by that kind of connection. I've had several relationships that reach this summit and then… then reality comes back and I remember:

I don’t like the restriction of definitions. Which makes me kind of a lousy submissive. 

For a short while, I wanted so badly to not be so messy. It’s messy to not have a definition. Kink and BDSM offer a kind of relief for people who feel like their sexuality is radically different. There are words and labels for complicated feelings and situations. There is a whole juicy language that you can use to explore your desires. And so often, when I view people on Fetlife, I see people find joy in discovering words and phrases that convey what it is they seek and what it is that drives their relationships. Because there's really deep joy in being understood, in finding belonging. But sometimes, I'm envious of those exact people who appear to fit comfortably inside of the labels the BDSM community uses. Because I don't seem to fit comfortably. Because kinksters are outsiders of mainstream culture and if I am outsider of the outsiders’ then fuck what am I?

Well... I'm not a submissive.  

It's taken me a long time to come to terms with that, but it's supported by my experiences and the broad range of my desires, so it's kind of dumb to deny that fact any longer. In truth, I'm a bad submissive because I have a tremendous appetite and though the submissive impulse has been fun to satiate it doesn’t even chip away at the hunger within.

But what am I then?

Well... a women aflame with desire who adores manipulating emotions, who gets wet from pushing boundaries.

I desire huge emotions provoked from sincere expression with my partners. I desire confessions sung at the height of orgasms, taboos shredded down to their innocence. I desire the emotional jugular—I want to find where your pulse pivots into your soul and I want to stab right the fuck into it.

I desire the pain that deeply loving someone brings. I desire the pleasure in acting like we are not mortal when we try to kill our egos in our sex.

I desire pleasure in all its preposterous forms.

One day I will probably be a full-fledge dominant. That is where it feels like I am going but I am not there there yet. Being a responsible dominant requires a commitment of time and energy that my current life doesn’t allow. So currently, I'm in a strange grey space in how I connect intimately with other kink-minded people. I am realizing more and more that I can see deeply into the psychological underpinnings of my own and my lovers' behaviors. It is hard to be submissive when you see all that. It is hard for other people “to get ahead of me”, cause I'm typically 23 paces ahead, and also because, fuck, I love learning how to lead, I like being at the helm. But more than all that I realized: I want to use my sight to penetrate someone else. I want to explore stripping other people of their power, flex my own without apology. 

I want to bring pain with the intent to heal.

I wish I could comfortably say that I'm a switch. If there has to be a label, I guess that is the label. But I can't settle into it because even as these words come out the ratio of my desires shift, becomes something nuanced and more developed.

All I can tell you is that I used to be submissive and I've experienced what it does. 

And one day, I want to bring others to the places where submissiveness will bring you.


It's just that I'm still learning skills to get us there. 

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?