Sex Is Never Meaningless

I learn just as much about myself from solitude, contemplation, and quiet meditation as I do from arguements, crowds, and racous fucking.

A week ago, I had a guy over for a fuck. The first thing he did when he walked in the door was to say “Cute place.” The second, to kiss me. Third, to gag me with his huge cock slamming into the back of my throat.

This is significant for two reasons

  1. I am a control addict. I do not like giving it up. I have severe withdrawl which results in bitchiness, a tender ego, and acute anxiety.
  2. I don’t like physical discomfort. I don’t like being spanked, pinched, bitten, slapped, cut, burnt, etc.

But as my eyes watered, and my breath faltered, I felt myself push his dick deeper.

“You like sucking my cock, don’t you?”

And as he pulled out, and air flooded my lungs, all I could do was moan as I grabbed his hips to pull him back in again.

 

I did not know that about myself. That I could be so hungry for cock that I would – momentarily – give up my air supply. It’s something I’ve been thinking over for the past week and mostly what I keep thinking is I want that cock back in my throat.

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