Fuck love


I’ve never been fond of the term “making love”. To me, love is something that you feel, not something that you do.  That’s not to say that having sex doesn’t make you feel loved, it can, and when it does, it can add a whole other level of intensity to proceedings; but sex and love are not the same thing, and you can have one with, or without the other.

I like to use the word “fuck”. It’s coarse, it’s earthy, it just sounds right for an act that, when we get right down to it, is basically an animalistic coupling. Yes, sex can be gentle and tender and, dare I say it, loving; and it is great, but it can also be rough, and hard, and, well, animal, and that’s pretty damned amazing too.

I also quite like “shag”. I’m not sure if I can differentiate between a shag and a fuck, or even possibly a screw (although that’s not a term I particularly like), but that’s not important. The thing is, you can fuck, shag, or screw someone without loving them; I know I certainly have.

I’ve never really understood the euphemistic term: “sleep with”. Yes, OK, so I have (literally) slept with a few of the partners, both male and female, that I’ve had sex with, but there have been more than a few guys where no sleeping was involved whatsoever. Similarly, I have shared a bed with (so, again, literally slept with) a guy and not had sex with him. So, generally, it’s a term I avoid.

Euphemisms and slang aside, I will generally just describe it as “sex” or “having sex”. Granted, in the heat of passion, I have never huskily whispered the words “Have sex with me,” into a partner’s ear. I have, however demanded, quite forcefully on occasion, that said partner should “Fuck me!” and that sometimes they should “Fuck me harder!”. Could you possibly imagine asking someone to “Make love to me harder”? No, didn’t think so.

On a similar vein, I have absolutely never asked some one to make love to me in the arse, although I have very definitely asked, begged, pleaded, demanded to have my arse thoroughly fucked.

Sex is our most basic, animal pleasure. For me, words like “fuck” and “shag” have an animal quality that fits so well.  And, as Tina Turner once said, “What’s love got to do with it?”

Lustitude Blogging Meme Badge

Romance?


The alarm clock hasn’t gone off and we’re having our wake-up snuggle. Spooned together, I can feel the firmness of Master C’s early morning erection press against me. I wriggle against it.

Master C’s hand cups and squeezes my boob. His thumb flicks over my nipple. It stiffens in response and I squirm against Him.

He kisses my neck, then announces, quite simply, “I’m going to put my bit inside your bit and slide it in and out until I release a quantity of sticky fluid inside you.”

Master C disentangles His arm from under me as I roll on to my back and open my legs.

He moves above me, His cock pressing against the entrance of my cunt. “I’m putting it inside you now,” He says, matter-of-factly.

“Oh, yes please, please put your bit inside mine,” I reply, not altogether succeeding in keeping a straight face.

I moan softly as Master C  slides into me and duly begins to “move His bit in and out of mine”. Slowly at first, but with firm and steady strokes, filling and stretching my “bit” with His.

The pace increases, as does the force of Master C’s thrusts. Before long, He is fucking my with an urgency that is matched by mine. “Keep moving!” I urge, “Please, uhh… keep moving, ahh… inside me ohh!”

He does; harder, and still more forcefully. I know this phase; in this moment He is lost to me. In this moment, it isn’t me He is fucking; He is simply just fucking. In these moments Master C is at His most primal; rational thought has been replaced with animal instinct. I close my eyes and arch my back beneath His as my own body begins to respond in kind.

My climax ignites. My “bit” tightens around His, griping it as it powers into me. Through the daze of my orgasm, I can sense the approach of His; the sharpness of His breathing, the tension in His body, the urgency of His movements.

And then He comes. A long, strong, surging thrust as He releases inside me, followed by a series of shorter, less urgent ones as He rides the waves of His climax.

We lie, side by side, a tangle of arms, legs and hair. The air filled with the scent of our fucking.

“Did Sir enjoy moving His bit inside mine?” I enquire coyly.

“Sir did indeed,” He replied. “Did you enjoy me moving mine and releasing my fluid inside you?”

“Oh yes, definitely! My bit always enjoys playing host to yours, although other bits are feeling a little jealous of the attention that bit got.”

“They needn’t worry,” He replies, “Those bits will be seen to later.”

We both laugh at our continued whimsy.

The alarm clock makes its presence known. Another day begins. Who says romance is dead?

Mmm Mondays Meme Link Badge

Terms of endearment


Language is a strange thing; what is one person’s compliment can be highly insulting to another person. Take the word slut for example. As I’ve mentioned before, I’m not averse to being called a slut on occasion, in fact, in certain situations I’d feel cheated if I didn’t get called that or something equally degrading.

Now, I must confess, that like many women, I am, deep down, a soppy romantic at heart. As such, I am a sucker for the words, “I love you”. When spoken intimately and when meant can give me a me a warm glow all over.

With everything though, context is important. The words “I love you” said spontaneously by Master C as I’m leaving the house for work in the morning, or whispered in my ear just before I fall asleep at night, have a completely texture and effect than when they are gasped between clenched teeth while my lips are wrapped around His cock and He’s about to explode in my mouth.

Having said that, having Master C moan my name and call me His “good girl” at the point of orgasm just before he floods my cunt with cum and collapses, spent on top of me, pinning me beneath Him is always guaranteed to make me melt.

Getting back to the term slut; while I accept that some people find the term offensive, there are times, for me, that it is the highest compliment that I can be paid; particularly if Master C is calling me His “good little slut”.

When Master C is tugging my hair, fucking my arse mercilessly, I long for him to call me His “filthy little slut” or “dirty fucking whore”. As He sprays His load over my face and boobs, there’s nothing I want more than to have Master C call me His “dirty little cum slut”.

As I said before, the context is what’s important. Depending on the circumstances, being called a slut is every bit as endearing as being told that I am loved.

Language is a rich and varied thing, and there a many ways to express how much another person means to us. Slut, whore, love, fuck; all words that, depending on how they are used and who is using them can make someone feel wanted and special.

#MasturbationMonday