My brand of warm and fuzzy

Photo by Preillumination SeTh on Unsplash

There is something deeply sordid in the way Master takes me. We don’t make love, we never have. Wait, that’s not quite true. I do recall us attempting to have slow romantic sex once or twice in our first year together. You know, the way they do it in the movies, with a lot of kissing and gentle groping. I can’t say I wasn’t into it; I love the man so I responded in kind. But my arousal is directly tied to my mental state, and romance wasn’t cutting it. Despite the warm and fuzzy feelings that enveloped me, my pussy stayed dry. I suppose, over time, Master figured out that the way to make my pussy wet was to give nothing and to take everything.

Today, Master told me to be ready for him at lunchtime. It’s a Monday but since Master works from home, mid-day sex is fair game. I lowered the shutters so that the neighbours wouldn’t be treated to a view of our afternoon depravity, turned on the night lights and put on some music. At exactly 12.45pm (Master loves punctuality), I met him at the entrance to our bedroom. One might expect him to meet my excitement with a kiss, but instead, he gripped the back of my neck firmly and pushed me onto my hands and knees. Keeping his grip on the nape of my neck, he steered me crawling past the threshold and straight to our bed.

“Stand up and bend over, hands on the bed, piggy.” I did as I was told, feeling somewhat unsexy in my home ensemble of a purple pullover and black sweatpants. After placing a light swat on my ass, Master pulled my sweatpants down and I silently gave thanks that I had put on a pair of black thongs underneath. Master must have liked what he saw for he started spanking my bare ass and teasing my clit through the fabric of my thongs. When he eventually pulled my thongs down, he found me soaking wet and laughed. “You’re such a horny piggy. This is what you’ve been waiting for, isn’t it?” Master asked. Yes, it was true. I rarely get fucked in the pussy these days, save for when I’m ovulating, which was today.

I heard Master pull his pants down and then felt the tip of his hard cock up against my slit, rubbing up and down till it was slick with my juices. When the head of his cock breached the entrance to my pussy, I just melted. It’s been so long since I last took him in my pussy. Usually, he just uses my ass, penetrating my pussy only when his cock needs lubrication. I knew my pussy would need some time to adjust to his full length, but I couldn’t help myself. The longing to be filled and taken, even painfully, overwhelmed me and I started pushing back onto Master’s cock. It was exquisite. I found myself asking for permission to orgasm barely five strokes in. “Est-ce que je peux jouir?” This is perhaps the first full sentence in French I learnt and one I have perfected with practice and overuse.

If you were to ask me which position my favourite is, I’d have to go with missionary, except missionary is anything but boring for us. Missionary frees Master’s hands up to choke me, slap me and grab at my tits. I adore the visuals the position allows. Master has gorgeous blue eyes that darken to a stormy grey-blue when he is aroused. I drown in them when he stares me down while plunging hard into my wet needy pussy. There is also the struggle to keep my hands at both sides of my head while watching his palm draw close to my cheek, knowing that the smarting of skin is inescapable, inevitable. The only times I allow my hands to come into the equation is when I stroke his arm in a wordless signal that he’s choking me well within my limits; a light tap on his arm indicates the opposite.

If I had to liken our love-making fucking to a style of dance, I’d compare it to the tango. We’ve danced it so many times we know the steps at the backs of our hands. We move in tandem, slow at first, but always ending with a passionate flourish. I turn, twist, raise, lower, suck, moan, scream to Master’s lead. I’ve always wondered what we might look like to someone on the outside looking in. The R word comes to mind, but nothing could be further from the truth. “But how can she possibly enjoy being treated that way?” Oh, but I do. Not by anyone, of course. Just him. Just Master. It may not look it, but every strike of flesh he gives me is measured, not much different from the ‘normal’ form of touch most others are accustomed to. It’s just the way I’m wired. No, the way we’re wired.

After Master emptied his balls deep inside me, I took his cock, still hard, in my mouth and cleaned the mixture of our juices from his shaft, the way I’ve been trained to do, regardless of which hole he’s been in. I waited to see if I’d get some time with the vibrator on my clit, but there was none of that today. “Go clean yourself up, piggy, you’re disgusting.” I laughed, headed to the shower and cleansed myself of the remnants of our fucking. Back in the bedroom, after having been thoroughly used, finally came time for the sweet nothings. Master held me tight in his arms, planting kiss after kiss on my face, reddened from a mixture of being choked and being pushed into the mattress. My face against the mass of soft blond curls on his chest, my hands stroking and exploring his arms and chest, that’s my happy place where I find love, acceptance and joy.

One thought on “My brand of warm and fuzzy

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s