Sir, I have a request. Unusual, I know: but, well, hear me out.
You and I, sometimes, we’re **Great Communicators** giving Reagan and Bonzo a run for their money. There are times for that. But there’s also time for every purpose under heaven, according to such great thinkers as King Solomon, Pete Seeger and Roger McGuinn. So what I want today is – no talking.
Fuck the bejesus out of me, Sir. Then we’ll talk.
I do know my audience, and to be precise, we’ll say the *sufficient and necessary conditions* for the **bejesus** being fucked out of me would be met when you make me come three times – so, the challenge – should you choose to accept it – well, it’s no challenge for you, Sir, you could do that in your sleep! In fact there was that one time… erm. Nevermind.
And we’ll sidebar the inevitable conversation about the nature of speech and what I’m really forbidding – are my moans of delight and pain so different from your involuntary “fuck” muttered under your breath the first time, *each first time* I receive your cock in my mouth, surround it with my lips, and take it all in? We’ll sidebar that for pillow talk and the discussion will likely make me want to sit on your face and grind my cunt into you because I love talking to you and I love fucking you and what could be better?
I don’t need any fancy scene or set up, just take me. Let my mouth be reunited with your stiff cock before any words are spoken, fuck my throat before any syllables are formed there.
Put my breasts, swollen and heavy, one at a time, in your mouth, suck on my hard nipples, roll them around on your tongue, bite them, don’t use your words.
Let me climb atop you, no panties, hike up my skirt, sit back on you, you push into me and fill me up, your hands pressing into my hips, getting the angle just right, then let your hands find my nipples, roll them, savor them, get both in your mouth at once, circling them with your tongue, like my pussy is encircling your dick, my brain confused about which is which, am I the feeler or the feelee? or does everything just feel so good all the boundaries have broken down and and, I’m going to come on your cock—-
Do I need to ask permission? I forget. Did you say that? Or is that a standing order? Do I need to? Do I? Do I? Fuck, I forget. Wait, but we’re not talking, Right? Okay, I can’t —
My pussy is contracting and pulsing and I’m so wet we can hear each time you thrust, even above my vocalizing — and my clit rubs against you, and I feel like I will keep coming forever and ever, and I don’t stop in reality for several minutes, the neighbors can take it maybe they’ll like it especially that one physics grad student, the cute Canadian who sits on his porch and smokes and talks on the ph-OH-ne – Oh, yes they can take it and if they can’t I don’t care I’m not stopping, and now you’re biting my neck, my shoulder, my arm, your teeth sinking in a way that makes me think you want your dick to go deeper, harder, to be closer to me and my waves crash my voice cracks and I feel how slippery I’ve made you all over your dick and your abdomen, not to mention me and the bed, we’re all sticky and sweaty and – a chill overtakes me- I shiver, you smile up at me, and I laugh.
Laughter’s not speech, right? And these are **my** rules so- you can’t enforce them, you can’t grab me by my shoulders, push me off you, onto my stomach, pull down my skirt and spank me for that anyway. You wouldn’t grab my ass, *let’s be honest* part of my ass – and squeeze hard enough that I scream. You can’t take a fistful of my hair, when I’m spent and happy and still and pull my head back and shove your cock down my throat, can you?
Oh, but Sir, this is my fantasy and not yours! **I** thought this up, **I** did. But even in my head, I sometimes hand you the reins and it is but a lucky coincidence that I so enjoy the things you enjoy to do to me.
Usually.
OW.
Always.