"You like sucking it, bitch?”
Let it be known that I am a strong advocate to the benefits of responsible alcohol use. So much so that if there was ever another prohibition on it, I'd be the first to offer bootleg moonshine out of my basement.
That being said, I am not an example of responsibility. That colorful spectrum of what is responsible and what isn't is something I must have selective color blindness for. It is much easier accepting a fault in the making of my eyes as opposed to a fault in my judgment. Now, there are many things I could blame what's happening right now on. Many, many things.
"Mm," I muffle, my mouth full. I mean to continue with, "Does it look like I'm capable of holding a conversation when I'm in the middle of deepthroating you?" but what comes out instead is, "Mmm mm mmm."
We could blame my mother. That's always an option, no matter what the situation. Out of creamer and sugar for coffee? Damn you, mother! On my knees for a man that doesn't even know my last name and is incapable of saying the word cock? Damn you again, mother!
His hands are in the back of my hair. "Service it. It's your God for tonight."
I lean my head down so that he can't see my eyebrows furrow at what he's saying. I focus on handling his shaft with my hands, my mouth enveloping him. Part of me worries if he's going to want me to create a shrine for him out of little strips tore off of my self-esteem and clay models of his impeccably mediocre balls.
We could blame the four glasses too many of red wine that led me here. That's a good starting point, but let's face it–I did not have to reply to the ads. I'm a grown woman and I made the conscious decision to let Mr. Dom4U69 test my boundaries.
"Yeah, you're going to fucking choke when you swallow."
"I certainly hope not," I respond, but his manhood is a translator unfamiliar in chivalry, so what he hears is, "Mmm!"
A more likely candidate at hand to take the blame for this is unrealistic expectations. I don't know if this is a fault of my own or something society should be sued for, but the matter of it all is that too much dreamy smut has made all of this out to be desirable and easy. Let me tell you before you waste your time–this, ladies, is not what I was looking for when I was drunk at one in the afternoon, posting an ad on Craigslist asking for a billionaire to put me in my place. Admittedly, I have no idea what I was looking for, but this wasn't it.
His moans sound the same as a turtle's, which is both disturbing and causes a little concern. "You've been waiting for it all this time. Suck it!"
"It is called a COCK, man! It's a cock! Penis, dick, manhood, take your pick, but for the love of God, if you're man enough to call me a bitch then be man enough to say the word out loud!" I depend for this to be said in half-hearted mms, but when I open my eyes to survey what I've done, all I see in front of me is a deflating boner and a poor man's busted ego.
He's pulling his pants up and his eyes look like they're asking what the hell my problem is.
"Sorry about that," I say, putting my hand on his shoulder. "Mother issues."
(Looking to see if this style of writing would be well-received or not. It'd have genuine, sexy scenes in it, but its aim would be satirical and honest. I certainly feel like there are times some girls have wanted to react this way to a man. Let me know, though! Thanks.)
Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/1qx6ai/mf_critiqueish_miss_insert_here