Here’s something I find luxurious: the pucker and pull of my hole around you as you draw out of me—shivering, biting back a grunt to disguise your restraint—the relenting stretch of my strongest, tenderest skin giving way to your hot and heavy cock as you enter back in.
I am welcoming you in the most animal way I know how, settling your cells on an ancient level. Calling you home.
You shudder at the feel of my muscle kissing your most virile, most vulnerable flesh. The idea someone would want to hold it safe and warm inside their body moves you. The idea that you crave me holding you in this way moves me.
So I move.
If I speak, I’ll cry or else laugh, so I let the silence stand. I try my best to memorise the surreality of you pushing me open using this bit of you.
Maybe it sounds foolish to verbalise all this. Maybe this is how everyone feels, aware or not. I hope they appreciate it all.
I hope they have someone like you to accept—no, admire—*adore* all the things that stretched bit of skin, this wide-open position exposes: corkscrew hairs; tiny moles. I hope they treasure all the things I treasure about being pressed up against and joined to you: the scrape of your hair scoring up a rash between my legs; the stretch of my thighs making room for you.
The half-thoughts you whisper and then abandon. The reverence in your touch that crumbles into possession. I don’t think you less evolved for it; I want to be wanted. I want to belong to someone.
Besides which, anyone who knows me knows: I’m hopelessly your person.
So stretch me open. Relish how you change me. See where you are stuck in me and cherish it. Heaven knows I am stuck on you.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/mb0bss/stuck_fm_devils_in_the_explicit_details