What I was exposed to in my childhood has shaped the woman I am today, for better or worse. I can remember watching romcoms where women would be dissatisfied in their relationships, and then another man comes along, and they want him suddenly. However, her desires weren’t enough, she needed a reason to leave that was larger than her own happiness. The leading lady always needed a justifiable reason for leaving the man she was currently with, and even if she had already overstepped some boundaries, this was always justifiable because the guy she was currently with was verbally abusive, mean, or just a jerk. It was never a matter of incompatibility or her sexual and emotional needs, it was always an obvious red flag that he was bad. Usually, this was him commenting on her weight, cheating on her, or some other problem he had that made him the worst person on earth. I think men and women alike are quite shocked by reality when they grow up and realise these matters aren’t so black-and-white, though the message stays with women that they are to remain loyal to their man until he treats them badly. No stories delved into the male lead having depression, or being dependent on alcohol, as it was expected that any woman should be patient with their man and support them.
Sitting with my boyfriend, Mark, at the restaurant and having the residual of my mother’s voice cross out three-quarters of the options on the men, am I even that hungry? I better just have the salad, I indulged too much yesterday anyway. I could tell that Jack, whilst being a decent guy, was unhappy with the extra pounds I’d added since we met. I mean he has a right to be, I wouldn’t really want to date someone my weight either, I’d be happy if I was about twenty pounds smaller. He’s been nice about these comments though, simply stating that we should start working out together, and he wants ‘us’ to eat a little healthier. Some boyfriends would just outwardly express this, but he doesn’t want to hurt me, so he’s subtle. My mum on the other hand manages to express concerns about me gaining weight in a less subtle way. She’ll often comment on how I’m “well fed” or say, “that’s a lot on your plate.” Meanwhile, my brothers are always rewarded for their caloric intake, where her concerned voice queries, “Did you eat enough” or “you must still be hungry.” I love my mum, I realise she doesn’t know she’s doing this, but it still stings.
I’m often confused by such concerns from my family and partner, as I will still get looks when I leave the house, not that I always want that. The mixed signals of men staring at my ass and mentally undressing me coupled with the reality of my partner never initiating anything, until I do, makes me deduce that I’m somewhere in between hot and plain. I feel unloved by him, not that I feel loved by guys gawking at me, but I wonder if that’s the deal. Once a man gains access to a conquest’s body, he becomes desensitized, and his desire slows and dies. But that couldn’t be the case, I’ve checked his history before, “Angela White”, “Karlee Grey”, “Alina Lopez.” I’ve googled these women multiple times just to find out what he likes, and to try to emulate some excitement for him, but it seems out of my depth. Again, I’m sent mixed signals, none of those girls are skinny, Angela White weighs more than me, so there’s every chance he’ll be even more disinterested after I lose weight. Moreover, he looks at these women all the time, and yet he doesn’t seem disinterested.
I don’t think men experience living between a rock and a hard place quite as much as women, our daily life is full of mixed signals. men criticise us for not saying what we want or being ‘direct’ enough. That’s a product of our environment, not the female psyche. Why are women more emotional than men? Because the world throws multiple opinions at us every day, it’s exhausting. “Cover up,” “Wear something sexy,” “men aren’t interested in girls that sleep around.” Why are women more oppositional and angrier than men? Because fuck the world that is trying to confuse us. Just tell us what you fucking want, World! Be direct about what is wrong and right, and we’ll try. But for now, fuck you, world!
I can be overly animated, and passionate at times. Well, that’s another thing men love initially, but hate shortly after. Men can be assertive, whilst a woman is considered ‘too much.’ Although older guys seem to visually enjoy my confident stride, it seems this is because I’m showing them something intimate that a woman ought not to show outside the bedroom. Older guys typically had no shame visually fucking me, like it was almost a compliment. I do feel sorry that these guys miss the feeling of a young woman, and I’m sure they hear about how much more liberal girls are in bed now, as well as the Brazilian or landing-strip trends. How could a man not long for a young tight body in favour of their older wives? I digress, men like a woman’s confidence initially because it feels associated with an increased likelihood of getting their dicks wet, but once their dick is wet they just want you to shut up.
I think the funny thing is that the utopia for men really is the same as the one for women. Guys are unaware of what turns us on because we’re quiet about it. I remember around puberty I had terrible fantasies about being raped, though I felt intense guilt about this afterward, as the reality was never something I would want. That’s sort of the thing with us, we want to indulge our fantasies, but we feel like we’re exploring unsafe waters. I remember the confusion I felt around this time, and only recently did I find out that such fantasies were actually fairly common. The reality of gang rape is by no means sexy, but it was both a turn-on and my number-one fear at such a young age. I suppose I wouldn’t even know if it was something I was interested in consensually exploring, I buried those thoughts, they weren’t ladylike. I suppose that may have been my sexuality being shaped by what men wanted, and how they wanted to use attractive women. A man would want nothing more than his woman to be uninhibited and wild in bed, but such men also don’t realise the judgment and confusion women feel about being like that. As such, men almost have an expectation that women are to help them explore their fantasies. Few men I have dated have had any problem outwardly asking me if I would try anal or expecting me to blow them after they wake up with their morning circumstance, or even give them a foot-job, or sit on their face. It’s not even like the context was always right for the situation, these were things often just said out of nowhere, like during my morning coffee. Women seldom afforded the right to casually ask for such things, I think we often didn’t because of the mental aspect and fantasticality of our fetishes. All of my ex-boyfriends asked for anal, though I would not have felt comfortable asking if I could peg them if that was what I wanted. They would associate that with being gay or gross because it’s a man’s ass. They were uncomfortable, and that’s okay, but I’d lose brownie points if I wasn’t adventurous enough to let my man’s dick go up my ass. Guys craved adventure as much as women, but men held the cards. Even if the greatest climax was at the peak of me riding him with a dildo, he would still consider it weird for me to like that. But oh no, it’s not weird for your girlfriend to grit her teeth and tense up while you’re humping her dry. That’s another thing, a lot of guys like fucking ass because it’s dry, the lube is for your comfort sister, he wants the friction, and he wants to see you grit and tear up. The same goes for deepthroat fantasies, guys want to see you ‘take it.’ They want you to struggle for their pleasure. To them, it’s a way to gauge what we would do to make our men happy, though it sometimes made me feel disgusting.
I tried anal a few times, although I retired my ass after my 3rd boyfriend who was way too big for me to say yes to anal to. My current, 5th, boyfriend is not aware that he is not as big as that guy or that if he got in earlier I probably would have let him have it. With guys, they can be fragile, especially about your past. He would reflect on all of this if I told him as being a sign that I don’t love him enough to give him anal, or that I don’t think his dick is big enough, neither were true or even important to me. He’s made me orgasm, though he’s not my best in bed, but there could be no worse thing to say to a man. Once you admit to another man’s words, mind, dick, or tongue pleasing you more than him, you’ve basically killed him. Honestly, if he initiated more and tried to be more intimate, my orgasms would be way better, now they’re almost non-existent. Though I don’t think he could beat Tremaine’s dicking. He was the first African American guy I dated and fucked. And yes, I hate to perpetuate the stereotype, but in this case, his dick ran down my forearm, which actually hurt, but he would give me the best head to make up for it. I guess that made me warm to the idea of letting such a big object in my ass. Like it was thick too, and I was incredibly worried he’d break me, but he was also a really nice guy. He wouldn’t just ram it in like most guys wanted, it was aware of his size and took a far more sensual approach. Beyond the bedroom, he was doing a degree in drama, and I saw a few of his plays, he worked hard on his craft. I truly believe you can tell when guys are going to be good in bed by the way they apply themselves in life. With women, I think you can tell they’ll be good in bed if they’re outspoken, well at least I hoped.
I’ve been with Mark for the last three years, and he was also great. For my twenty-fifth birthday, he wrote me a small book of poems, which was the first big romantic gesture I’d received from him. I’m not saying mark knows nothing about the female anatomy, but he doesn’t know a lot about the female mind. I used to turn him on with a look, whereas he never knew what he was doing, and I think that makes him want to give up on trying. Which is maybe why he lets his daily stress out on women on the internet rather than me.
I find it crazy how we all live in this world and pretend to be polite and collegial to each other, but we go to work and stress the day away. We’re full of pent-up tension, and we’re tired, and sometimes we just want to be mean or rude. But we don’t. We hold ourselves together. It’s all foreplay, it’s meant to be released before you go to bed. That person that cut you off in traffic is a part of your foreplay, you should thank them for heightening your pleasure later. The boss that asked you to work on the weekend, man that’s going to feel good tonight, hey. The backhanded comments from your friends are like being warmed up and spanked by a paddle. Mark rarely let me take this out on him. Some nights all I wanted to do was jump on him and ride, no dinner, no dessert, no Netflix, just a sex marathon. But he wouldn’t even touch me. I knew he liked my feet when I painted them red, so I did that, he said they looked sexy, but he didn’t offer to rub them or anything. I felt like he was neglecting me and our relationship. I love him, but I don’t know if he’s that attracted to me anymore. I know I could initiate, but that’s always my job now, I want to feel wanted and worshipped too.
Mark didn’t know that I knew he watched porn when I’d go to bed, but I didn’t want to confront him for doing what he felt he needed to do in order to cum. I wanted my man to be less stressed for the next day. That, and I felt I was guiltier than he was. I could see the light shining down the hall when he was watching porn, this was a subtle loose end on his part. But when I could see the light, as a Pavlovian response I’d get my phone out and peruse Tremaine’s Instagram. I know, this is not good, but my current boyfriend was neglecting my needs, and this guy made sure I was always fed. I missed his dick, and though it sometimes hurt I was happy to take it for him. I didn’t masturbate to his photos like a giddy schoolgirl, I just looked at his handsome face in the photos. I just wondered what his life looked like now, and what happened over the last four years. I felt so much guilt for wondering what our life would be like if we chose not to end things, and it’s easy to get caught up in those thoughts when your life isn’t currently all that it’s cracked up to be. I wondered if he was with anyone, as his profile suggested he was single. Did he have many partners after me? Did they let him fuck their ass? My guess would be that most women would be afraid to let a man that size do that. I wondered if he felt dissatisfied because of this, and whether it made him think of doing it to me. He never wanted me to be dry, he wouldn’t even have considered that to be an option.
The light down the hall goes off, indicating that Mark is finished fucking the computer girls. I wonder if he knows that I know, but I wonder even more if he cares. As he walks into our dark room to his partner pretending to already be sound asleep, tears well up in my closed eyelids like clockwork, and I pretend I don’t exist.
One positive about my current circumstance is my career, which I enjoy endlessly. In case you haven’t already guessed, I have a feminist column, but not just anywhere, I’m now published every 2nd day in the New York Times. If you’ve ever read one of my columns, you’d never suspect me to be sexually frustrated. I suppose I read more as someone who is too sexually liberated if anything. Some of my favourite columns are on the debate of whether porn is pro, or anti-feminism, as well as the one on whether BDSM perpetuated or alleviated violence against women. Oddly enough, being a feminist writer for one of the most popular papers in the country puts a big target on your back, which didn’t bother me. The way I saw it, if I didn’t have a target on my back, then I wasn’t doing enough in the fight for equality. I often merged topics relating to sexuality with gender imbalances and tried to figure out whether the topic had merit. Some of my avid male fans would email me daily with suggestions, which I thought was really nice of them. Some of my favourites included, “Die you stupid slut,” and “I want to rape your mouth.” That second one was from a lovely man whose email read ‘JamieBigDick1987.’ Thanks for your suggestion, Jamie, I will have to raincheck the mouth-raping for now, though it is a tempting offer!
There was also another type of male in my inbox that got off on telling me they jerk off to me, again this was another unwanted mixed signal to add to my list. My own boyfriend wouldn’t even jerk it to me, and strangers on the internet said they’d done it with just the little square photo of me sitting on a swivel chair with my professional polyester blouse and black pants next to my column. My tits weren’t showing in the picture, my legs weren’t showing, and my ass certainly wasn’t showing. It was just me smiling a little awry at the camera. Although, I think men sometimes got off on the idea of me being a ball-busting feminist that would humiliate them for coming to the thought of me. I think they confused feminist with a dominatrix, and I have no experience with the latter. If anything, my sex life was a little submissive. I painted my nails the colour my partner liked, I’d wear lingerie if he asked me to, and I’d give head with getting next to nothing in return. My womanhood had been somewhat shaped into being for the pleasure of men, and I didn’t feel I could do a lot about it. I still sort of blame the cheesy romcoms I watched, and my mother’s judgment, though I knew I should take some responsibility. I think Mark found comfort in me being a feminist writer, though he didn’t express it often, I think my perception as a ballbuster made him think I wouldn’t get hit on at the office, or anywhere. I mean, who wants a feminist going to HR? Or worse, who wants a feminist writing about you in tomorrow’s column?
I didn’t have my own office, though I shared one with Adrian who worked in criminal reporting. I was 32 and had to work my way up for 5 years to have an office that I shared with someone else, he was 23 and had only been working here for 3 years. Go figure! It’s likely that because of this, he’d stay out of my way when I was profusely writing or on the phone, and even gave me most of the office space. He was a young gentleman, unlike most fresh college graduates that expect to be top of the food chain after their first year of working. He’d respectfully ask me questions, or for my input and advice on his articles. He looked at me like I was his mentor. He was quite stylish and nice, and I think he even had eyebrow appointments unless his partner does them. I never really probed; it wasn’t my business. Such characteristics do make me believe he is gay, which I know is a very narrow view of what it means to be gay, but I usually have a sensitive gaydar. He had gay flirtatiousness and confidence around women, almost as if he knew he wasn’t a threat. He was never serious in his approach to talking to women, unlike many straight guys who are trying so hard to impress. Plus, he’d notice when I do my hair differently or any makeup changes. He was clearly gay. If I had to pick, I’d much rather share an office with a gay man than a straight one, I don’t need the harassment or perving while I’m trying to research and work.
“Adrian, I’m just letting you know that I’m going on a porn website now, for research, so I’d avoid this side of the office until I say the ghost is clear,” I warned.
“Oh okay, ‘researching’ again,” Adrian said with a poignant wink.
He seemed to have taken my warning as an invitation, as he swiveled over to my side of the desk and asked, “so, what’s on the menu today?”
“This is work, not playtime!” I say a little too flirtatiously because it would feel a little awkward to just ask him to let me do my work. Though I realize the novelty of watching porn at work being considered to work.
“Okay, would you like me to leave the room to give you some privacy?” He joked although I hoped he was being serious. “Nothing I haven’t seen before.” He added.
“Okay, well actually I could get your input,” I said as he perked up to this rarity. “It’s a short gay artistic porno that shows two men making love, which is rare in the industry. I’m investigating the fetishisation of gay men, and whether this perpetuates the perception of gay men as objects rather than dual partners.” I explain.
“Yummy.” He says with a cunning grin as he swivels back over to my side of the desk.
The two men begin by embracing each other warmly and staring into each other’s eyes lovingly. Both men have fairly regular bodies, not the type that would typically be cast in gay porn scenes. They looked like a regular homosexual couple that you’d have over for a game night or a barbeque. The tall brunette looks at his slightly shorter and chubbier counterpart and expresses, “I’ve loved you since before I knew I loved you.” Which was a warm and albeit sexy expression accentuated by a drawn-out pause. He then begins to kiss down the man’s chest and bites his belly fat, before kissing around his dick. This is the sort of foreplay you usually see in straight or lesbian porn, but not between two men. Generally, gay porn cuts to the chase. After a minute of such teasing making his dick hard, he begins to slowly suck whilst staring into his co-star’s eyes. This diverges into them in a sixty-nine position, though I’ve never seen it done so romantically. There are intermittent pauses from the taller partner, as he stops sucking for a few seconds to run his hands down his partner’s thighs in appreciation. I wondered if this was what gay men desired, as opposed to the quick aggressive content they are generally given. As a straight woman, I unsurprisingly was still turned on by the display of beauty and authenticity. Like most women, It wasn’t about seeing a man’s dick, or even a man playing around between my labia. It was the build-up, the tension, the romance that made the fucking mean something. One-night stands are way more exciting for men than they are for women. I’ve had a few because I thought a guy was hot, or I just wanted the mechanical process of orgasm. But, for me, it never compared to fucking an intimate partner. Adrian looked at me, walked over to his side of the desk, and sat down, as I stopped the video in response.
“Wow…” he breathed, “that’s a little too good.”
“Are you okay, I didn’t overstep any boundaries, did I?” I asked.
He shook his head side-to-side. “I’ve just never experienced anything so sensual.” He expressed with a longing for divine intimacy. “I’ve never had that, men always just want to cum, like it’s never about appreciating the soul or the mind. Like, I’m guilty of it too, but I want that.”
I looked into his eyes and saw the cruelty of our situation. I even entertained that after his beautiful words, had the man before me not being gay, an affair may have scratched our itches and released our urges. I would never have done this, but at least I don’t have the tempting option right now. It was like being the perfect match when the timing was off, or crossing paths looking for the same thing and never noticing one another.
“Are you with anyone now?” I probed.
“He cheated on me, and left without a goodbye about a month ago.” He said with an awkward smile to suppress the reality.
“I’m so sorry,” I say in an attempt to be helpful.
“I had cheated on him first though. Everyone who’s gay cheats, that why seeing something so beautiful is heartbreaking, it seems so fantastical.” He says devoid of hope.
I was unaware of how to respond, and Adrian can see the discomfort in my face. A lot of my work has been trying to break such stigmas, and here I am with a gay man, albeit a young gay man, who doesn’t believe the stigma can be broken.
He adds, “I cheated because I was unsure.”
“Unsure of what?” I curiously probe again.
“Whether I was just gay, or maybe had some interest in women.” He says slowly, almost as though he is trying to conceal that he is a sexual ‘threat’ to women, and therefore shouldn’t be impersonating the flirtatiousness of an otherwise gay man.
He continues, “I have odd feelings about women. Like I can see their beauty and awe, but I only get…” He pauses, “I really shouldn’t be talking about such inappropriate stuff at work, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” Adrian exclaims.
“It’s okay, if you’re comfortable I want to know,” I say gesturing to his heart.
“I was assaulted by a female teacher when I was a senior before college. Before the incidents, I had been obsessed with women and didn’t feel anything sexual towards men, and then… I just was like this.” He says wearing his heart on his sleeve.
I was sitting in shock. I had worked with sexual assault survivors and heard their stories, but I never heard one where someone’s sexuality made such a seismic shift after the fact.
“I remember liking women, I even remember having a crush on that teacher, which is why I felt so much guilt after she played with my trust in her.” He said looking down. “It was simply a horny fantasy, I never wanted it to be reality.”
“No, of course not! She shouldn’t have done anything regardless.” I said in shock.
“I don’t ever want anything to be non-consensual again. I never wanted it in the first place, she just touched me, and I had no choice at the time. I was scared.” He tried to justify his feelings though he had no need to. “The worst part of it. The reason my relationship was ruined, was that of the few women I’m attracted to, they are all my superior. It’s as though my mind became twisted after my experience.”
I selfishly stop comforting Adrian for a second, as I’m taken aback. Am I superior to Adrian? On the one hand, no, I don’t get paid any more than him and we share an office. On the other hand, I am like his mentor, does he look at me as a teacher? No, surely not. He’s too comfortable around me and has never shown any true interest in me. I shouldn’t even be thinking these thoughts, it made no difference.
“Have I worried you?” He asked me.
“No. Not worried but concerned.” I responded.
“How so?”
For some reason, I responded with my selfish query, “I am not single, and I guess I’m curious as to whether I am a woman that you consider superior to you.”
“Well…” He gulps, “I suppose you are, but that doesn’t really mean I would pursuit it, as I work with you and love this job and our colleagueship.”
I feel so much guilt in the pit of my stomach after his response, though this is mixed with excitement for being sexy because of my superiority. I do realise the enormity of the situation though, he is only this way because of unfortunate circumstances, and to be excited about something like this is horrible. So, I’m back to guilt.
In the same fashion as when I was young having fantasies about the very things I feared most, I was indulging in the idea of being this man’s experiment. I was still reeling from the images imprinted in my brain of two men making love so attentively. Would a woman’s touch be enough to explore this, and should I be the woman for the job? Absolutely not, Mark wasn’t having sex with me, but I truly did love him, so I couldn’t do this. But the idea alone made my underwear feel more damper than usual. With his young libido moving in and out of my superior body. Holding all of the cards that men always got to hold in my relationships. I’m looking at him with a sense of sorrow and wishing I could help him, but I also want to help myself.
As he sits there looking down about to start his work again, as though he was hopeless about the whole situation, I committedly move my right heel under the table trying to be near his shoes, as a sort of desire for human closeness that I thought was fitting after such a tender moment. He didn’t know my right foot was close to his, maybe it was more for my comfort, or something subconscious for the both of us to feel rather than know. I felt this was more tender than testing the sexual waters, though it shifted more to the latter as my foot remained there for a minute as we changed the topic.
“How’s your boyfriend Mark going?” Adrian probes.
I usually respond to this with bullshit, but I felt tender and vulnerable and so I responded, “He doesn’t seem interested in me anymore.” My foot moves a little closer again almost as another response to my desire for closeness.
Adrian looks at me surprised. “Oh.” He speaks.
“Yeah, it’s a little frustrating, you know?” I say with a deep serious tone.
I move my foot a little closer, this time motivated by the tenderness transforming into tension. My foot is just barely touching his, as he looks at me. He knows I touched him, but he glosses over it.
“Yeah, he’s asked for stuff that I didn’t really want to do, and I think he lost interest after that.” I decide not to add the part about his dick going soft likely due to the bit of added weight around my hips and thighs. I gesture my heel more expressively at the fabric by his ankle, moving his pants slightly up and down from the floor. He seems to know that I’m trying to be friendly with him, as indicated by his smile toward me.
“Have you talked to him about this?” Adrian queries uninterested in anything but the sensation of my friendly heel brushing the bottom of his leg.
I don’t answer him. Instead, I flick my heel off and rub my toes up his pants around his calf muscle, as he gulps. I ask, “Is this, okay?”
He nods at me.
As though our conversation is moving at a different speed to our bodies, and the two worlds are still yet to collide, I insert the catalyst, “Have you ever thought about me?”
His young mind is overwhelmed, as he simply reiterates a nod confirming my current updated view of his sexuality.
For some reason, I want to assert my superiority, so I ask him, “What have you thought about?” Knowing that he will struggle to answer, I motivate him with my toes brushing slowly up to his thigh. “Don’t be nervous. I’ll help you out with every detail you give. Don’t be ashamed, I’m flattered.
His eyes light up like road signs warning of a very bumpy road ahead.
“I imaged you spank my ass red.” With my foot on his thigh, I slightly brush the left side of his cock, not enough to know if he is hard, but enough for him to want more. “You asked me to taste the stain on your underwear,” he elaborates on his imagination.
He really did have dirty thoughts about me. I twinkle my toes with the rhythm of a wave from my pinky upwards over the outline of his cock protruding from his pants and leave them there this time.
“I imagine you sitting on my face while you masturbate to the power you have over me.” He said with the fear of me rejecting one of his fantasies.
The door was already locked when I put the porn clip on, so we were alone. I get up off my chair and take my business pants off, revealing a pair of wet red panties I had worn in case Mark showed interest tonight. Adrian’s face lit up at what Mark would have scoffed at.
I could tell he wanted to feel how swollen my lips were. His young mind wondered whether my discharge was clear or creamy, and wanted to taste it regardless like a young pussy- hungry man should. I don’t take my underwear off, but I sit on top of the desk where he is sitting.
“Smell me,” I say awkwardly, as I’ve never commanded someone to do that.
He obliged and whiffs my crotch through the outside of my red panties, pressing his nose to my swollen labia, and feeling the heat of my vagina wetting my thick thighs. He looks up at me similar to how they did in the video, and he looks so excited, as am I.
I pull my panties down to my ankles too lazy to take them all the way off. “Taste me,” I whisper.
Adrian began by kissing between the top of where my soft black stocking gripped my thighs tightly. With each successive kiss, I could feel my heart speed up, knowing that I was going to get something I’d been deprived of for too long. He began by kissing around my labia and tasting the juiciest part of my lips. Then he began to run just the tip of his tongue down to my creamy vagina, begging for attention. He slowly carried my precum from my vagina up to my clit through the long route of my labia. With this process, he interchanged between the right side and the left side a few times and then moved to an unpredictable pattern of doing it however he wanted each time. After moving my cream up to my clit using the right side of my pussy, my left side would ache. Then he began to put more pressure on his tongue, which made the job harder as my juices were multiplying for him. He seemed happy with the extra work I had given him.
He asked me to stand up, and I complied. He then bent me over and spread my ass cheeks to their sides. I was surprised when he pressed his nose into my ass and breathed me in. I was so horny by his overwhelming desire to experience all of my body, I felt truly sexual.
“Can I lick it?” He asked.
“Lick what?” I responded.
“Your beautiful little ass?” he begged with a breath. My ass was often criticised for being too big, so it confused me to hear it called little.
“Sure,” I said awkwardly, wondering whether I should be considering Mark whilst doing this. It was like I hoped he knew, though it would break our hearts.
Then he circled his tongue around the rim of my asshole, which felt completely different from anything a man has done to me before. It was a fun, ticklish sensation that added to everything. Then he moved his tongue into my ass as he moaned with pleasure. I wasn’t sure what he gained from this, but I didn’t mind it. He moved his lips as far into my ass cheeks as he could and pushed his tongue in more.
I told him, “Lay down so I can spread myself more for you.” As I queened him, felt the edges of the inside of my ass, and I felt his wet tongue play with places that no man has gone before. As he was doing this, I noticed how hard his cock was through his pants. I started running my nails down his bulge, as he started licking faster. I unzipped his pants and took out his manhood with my right hand and began to stroke.
“Do you want to be inside of me?” I said as I got up from his face.
He nodded and positioned himself so that I was on top of his cock. I hadn’t shaved my pussy on account of not having a man to want to fuck me, but Adrian didn’t seem bothered by this. I spread my lips with my fingers as he positioned the tip of his cock to my vagina’s wet opening. I slid down it, slowly remembering the experience of an engorged man filling me just before my cervix.
Adrian gave me a look that I instinctively knew what meant, but by the time I realised, it was too late, so I didn’t bother trying to stop him, I missed this feeling of being adored anyway. I could feel his pelvic muscles pulsating his dick, and his eyes shut in agonistic pleasure. His balls tensed so hard that he grunted as he released all of his stress into my hole.
After a minute of letting him experience his sensational orgasm, I wanted my own release. I slid off his drenched cock, and perched myself up on his face, and ordered him to, “Lick inside my vagina.” The sensation of all of his cum slowly dripping out of me and onto his lips as he ate me made me experience my true power as a sexual woman. I felt myself move to the tipping point of all of my pent-up frustration. I was about to release Adrian’s mouth, and I didn’t only want it, but I needed it. To stop now would feel worse than any death sentence, or the life I had been living. I can feel more of him drip down my wall as he moves his tongue from my vagina to around my clitoris in a circular motion. I convulse and start selfishly humping his face with no regard for whether it hurts him, he licks me faster, and I convulse unforgivingly as I clench my arms, and feel it in my stomach, I release our stress into his welcoming mouth.
And I wipe up all of our stress for the last few months off his face and thank him for his help.
Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/11mio9x/women_in_power_happy_international_womens_day
Likely to be continued…