V
Vail_Indigo
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makes the happiest little squeeky noise...and then falls to the floor in a mess
The Confessional
- Thread starter Ausus_girl13
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makes the happiest little squeeky noise...and then falls to the floor in a mess
V
Vail_Indigo
Guest
unable to help feeling more than a little...strangely...sexy on the floor like this...slowly, half-crawl, halfg-slither
Light Ice
A Real Bastard
- Joined
- Feb 12, 2003
- Posts
- 5,399
I confess:
She is not a passive woman. I could not tolerate one for long. There is something attractive about a woman beholden to her principles and driven to follow a course in life. Indecisiveness, dishonesty, and cowardice are traits that I find personally insulting because of what they represent. They represent a soul that has not come to terms with itself. A cancer. A malignant mass that changes shape and direction in response to the world around it, attaching it here and there to leech some semblance of life away.
But still, there's more.
I confess that passive women terrify me because in the end they are the ones that are most capable of truly harming me. For all my assertive qualities and all my patience, all my austerity and ruthless efficiency, I am bound to the same pitfalls that lure all men. It is out purpose, or so we have come to collectively believe and embrace, that it is our job to shelter, protect, please, and provide for our chosen partner.
They are our wards as well as our lovers.
And so, we seek to please. For all the taking that we do, for every single moment I have pinned her to the hardwood and felt the slender column of her throat under my fingers, I have given to her something of me. It is more than my prick, a steely column, pummeling the pouted, puffy wet petals of her pussy. It's essence. It's an exchange of energies. It extends past passion and want and love and every other tangible or mature feeling and beyond to some primal part of me that simply demands to care for my woman.
I may be choking her. Denying her air. Watching her gorgeous face blush red as her body heaves under me, her eyes wide and frightened and wanton all at once, tears forming in their beautiful corners. I may be toying with her weaknesses. With her body, so much smaller than my own, a plaything to which I take what my cock demands.
And as her make-up runs in dark, dirty smears along her beautiful face and I let her breathe, and she comes on my prick, bucking and trembling and wailing...
back arched, breasts thrust high, nipples tight and body beyond what is otherwise her flawless, seductive control...
I am giving to her a promise, a pledge, an oath. I am telling her that when I take from her I will give, attention, adoration, appreciation. I will worship as she worships. I will stand beside her when she strives out into the world and I will nurture the things in our lives that give her happiness.
Even as I lean back and paint her, thick jets of cream splashing the elegant lines of her body, accenting fair skin with pearl-white ropes of smoldering, molten hot cum, I am giving her far more than she will most likely ever understand.
That is why I fear passive women. Women who are not aware or in-control of their own happiness. Women who will not speak directly of what they need and want out of fear of conflict or expectation that I will simply know. Because, while I will try to know, it will frustrate and confuse me in a way that no woman could ever understand if I fail without knowing how.
I need her confidence and her ability to be capable. I need her willingness to stand on her own, even if it means lifting herself up on those pretty painted toes to look into my face with a more steely glance than I am ever used to, and challenging me.
I need to believe that I can keep her happy, even if she must teach me how, and that she is willing to allow me.
Because, otherwise, I will lose confidence. Not in myself. In us. I will lose the faith that she cares enough about her own wants and desires to speak up and I will fear, always fear, that in the ferocity of my desires she is being swept away.
I must know, -must- know, that when I have her bent before me with her ass raised, her lean body bowed in a feline arch that thrusts her full breasts painfully into the floor and allows her to lay her cheek against the cool hardwood, that I have not lost my control of the part of me that cares nothing for a woman's pleasure or the bond that I can forge. This glutton, this monster, cares only for burying my dick as deeply as possible, as roughly and wantonly as possible, into the pussy of some darling woman.
I need to know that when i drive my hand against her ass and rock the cheek with a slap, setting it on-fire in the wake of my palm and leaving her with the bright-red mark and the trembling force of the impact, that she would stop me if I was crossing the line.
Because without that trust I cannot give her what she desires or receive my own.
And I confess that I am glad she will tell me. She will beg me to hurt her if that's what she needs. She will sob with make-up smears on her face, her lips bruised from kisses, her hair a tangled mess from where I've fisted it between my fingers... and say, "Daddy, make it hurt. Hurt your little slut. Use her and punish her with your fat cock until your spunk fills her up or paints her."
Because otherwise, I couldn't hurt her. Otherwise, I couldn't give us what we need. I couldn't fuck her until she was a ruin of the composed, elegant, brilliantly classy woman that I care for. I couldn't leave her curled up in a puddle of our cum, her lungs sucking desperately for air and her muscles still twitching under the power of the sensations arcing through her.
She's a lady, a partner, a confidant before she is my slut. And without the confidence in her that I have there is very little chance I would be able to get through all the layers of her beauty and find the wanton, wicked, desperate cock tease beneath it all.
She is not a passive woman. I could not tolerate one for long. There is something attractive about a woman beholden to her principles and driven to follow a course in life. Indecisiveness, dishonesty, and cowardice are traits that I find personally insulting because of what they represent. They represent a soul that has not come to terms with itself. A cancer. A malignant mass that changes shape and direction in response to the world around it, attaching it here and there to leech some semblance of life away.
But still, there's more.
I confess that passive women terrify me because in the end they are the ones that are most capable of truly harming me. For all my assertive qualities and all my patience, all my austerity and ruthless efficiency, I am bound to the same pitfalls that lure all men. It is out purpose, or so we have come to collectively believe and embrace, that it is our job to shelter, protect, please, and provide for our chosen partner.
They are our wards as well as our lovers.
And so, we seek to please. For all the taking that we do, for every single moment I have pinned her to the hardwood and felt the slender column of her throat under my fingers, I have given to her something of me. It is more than my prick, a steely column, pummeling the pouted, puffy wet petals of her pussy. It's essence. It's an exchange of energies. It extends past passion and want and love and every other tangible or mature feeling and beyond to some primal part of me that simply demands to care for my woman.
I may be choking her. Denying her air. Watching her gorgeous face blush red as her body heaves under me, her eyes wide and frightened and wanton all at once, tears forming in their beautiful corners. I may be toying with her weaknesses. With her body, so much smaller than my own, a plaything to which I take what my cock demands.
And as her make-up runs in dark, dirty smears along her beautiful face and I let her breathe, and she comes on my prick, bucking and trembling and wailing...
back arched, breasts thrust high, nipples tight and body beyond what is otherwise her flawless, seductive control...
I am giving to her a promise, a pledge, an oath. I am telling her that when I take from her I will give, attention, adoration, appreciation. I will worship as she worships. I will stand beside her when she strives out into the world and I will nurture the things in our lives that give her happiness.
Even as I lean back and paint her, thick jets of cream splashing the elegant lines of her body, accenting fair skin with pearl-white ropes of smoldering, molten hot cum, I am giving her far more than she will most likely ever understand.
That is why I fear passive women. Women who are not aware or in-control of their own happiness. Women who will not speak directly of what they need and want out of fear of conflict or expectation that I will simply know. Because, while I will try to know, it will frustrate and confuse me in a way that no woman could ever understand if I fail without knowing how.
I need her confidence and her ability to be capable. I need her willingness to stand on her own, even if it means lifting herself up on those pretty painted toes to look into my face with a more steely glance than I am ever used to, and challenging me.
I need to believe that I can keep her happy, even if she must teach me how, and that she is willing to allow me.
Because, otherwise, I will lose confidence. Not in myself. In us. I will lose the faith that she cares enough about her own wants and desires to speak up and I will fear, always fear, that in the ferocity of my desires she is being swept away.
I must know, -must- know, that when I have her bent before me with her ass raised, her lean body bowed in a feline arch that thrusts her full breasts painfully into the floor and allows her to lay her cheek against the cool hardwood, that I have not lost my control of the part of me that cares nothing for a woman's pleasure or the bond that I can forge. This glutton, this monster, cares only for burying my dick as deeply as possible, as roughly and wantonly as possible, into the pussy of some darling woman.
I need to know that when i drive my hand against her ass and rock the cheek with a slap, setting it on-fire in the wake of my palm and leaving her with the bright-red mark and the trembling force of the impact, that she would stop me if I was crossing the line.
Because without that trust I cannot give her what she desires or receive my own.
And I confess that I am glad she will tell me. She will beg me to hurt her if that's what she needs. She will sob with make-up smears on her face, her lips bruised from kisses, her hair a tangled mess from where I've fisted it between my fingers... and say, "Daddy, make it hurt. Hurt your little slut. Use her and punish her with your fat cock until your spunk fills her up or paints her."
Because otherwise, I couldn't hurt her. Otherwise, I couldn't give us what we need. I couldn't fuck her until she was a ruin of the composed, elegant, brilliantly classy woman that I care for. I couldn't leave her curled up in a puddle of our cum, her lungs sucking desperately for air and her muscles still twitching under the power of the sensations arcing through her.
She's a lady, a partner, a confidant before she is my slut. And without the confidence in her that I have there is very little chance I would be able to get through all the layers of her beauty and find the wanton, wicked, desperate cock tease beneath it all.
Miss Sixxy
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Feb 13, 2006
- Posts
- 1,625
V
Vail_Indigo
Guest
crawling slowly on my tummy...undulating...closer and closer with eyes locked on Sixxy
Miss Sixxy
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Feb 13, 2006
- Posts
- 1,625
watching her moving toward me, a wanton display of need and lust, I chew on my bottom lip...intrigued by what she wants from me, but also somewhat afraid.
V
Vail_Indigo
Guest
finally at Sixxy's feet...eyes staring up at her...breath flowing from my mouth to the top of her foot...around her ankles, teasing at caressing...but never does skin touch skin...just breath, warm and moist
dragonrazor
Boobies...BOOBIES....
- Joined
- Mar 5, 2006
- Posts
- 74,066
I confess that I want cheesecake again.
Miss Sixxy
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Feb 13, 2006
- Posts
- 1,625
V
Vail_Indigo
Guest
tonguetip slithers out...not touching skin...just the leather and metal...tracing the straps and zipper over and over again...one shoe, then the other
Trixabell
Dom Whisperer
- Joined
- Feb 20, 2010
- Posts
- 2,389
*fans self*
Miss Sixxy
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Feb 13, 2006
- Posts
- 1,625
stands perfectly still, eyes following her tongue and watching the pleasure register on her face.
Drunken_Angel
Princess Absinthe
- Joined
- May 8, 2010
- Posts
- 2,576
*watches, eyes fixed, breath rapid, small languid rubbing together of legs and thighs*
V
Vail_Indigo
Guest
straps thoroughly explored..tonguetip finding its way to the sole, just along the side...wandering up the supple curve...then down the spike...then back up...tongue just barely brushing the skin along her heel...just the slightest touch of warm and wet
Miss Sixxy
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Feb 13, 2006
- Posts
- 1,625
feels the slightest touch of her tongue and shivers, barely breathing
V
Vail_Indigo
Guest
lips...soft and red...caress lightly along the tips of toes...back...and forth...a tiny...
oh
the only sound...back....and forth...
oh
the only sound...back....and forth...
Miss Sixxy
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Feb 13, 2006
- Posts
- 1,625
watches intently as her lips paint my toes with the slightest hint of red, sighing...
V
Vail_Indigo
Guest
a shiver of...something...passing through my body...visible to the woman standing, but only just...lips stop...and gently place a kiss on the tip of her first toe...lips linger, and leave red on toenail and tip as the slip off
Miss Sixxy
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Feb 13, 2006
- Posts
- 1,625
leaning down running fingers through her hair as if to say thank you.
V
Vail_Indigo
Guest
eyes meeting hers...hiding nothing...thrilling to her fingers in my hair...
Miss Sixxy
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Feb 13, 2006
- Posts
- 1,625
pretty smile for a pretty lady as eyes lock on hers
V
Vail_Indigo
Guest
just a hint of a smile...a secret delight...neck stretches ever so slightly upwards
Miss Sixxy
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Feb 13, 2006
- Posts
- 1,625
before even realizing what is happening feels herself being inexplicably pulled toward this magnificent creature
V
Vail_Indigo
Guest
back arching...closing the distance to the beautiful woman...every inch closer an absolute delight...lips glisten...barely parted
Miss Sixxy
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Feb 13, 2006
- Posts
- 1,625
fingers still in her hair, somehow now ending up brushing her cheek as every so slowly, sweetly and gently their lips touch
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