So I've been a bad, bad member of the Insomnia Club, of late. Simply put, I haven't been pulling my weight and sometimes the subject matter we choose isn't always the choicest for me… In other words, I was probably too intoxicated to write, or I was in a jail spooning it up with the other inmates, swapping stories of hot rods and candy canes. Don't you judge me!
When the topic for August came up, I was intrigued as I thought of the possibilities and then, I thought of a couple situations that made my pants… less roomy. That's not to say I'm packing a large ‘Johnson,' but I'm a legend in my own mind, let's just say. Oh! The topic for this month's Insomnia Club Post is simply: LUST!
Groggy is as groggy does… Or does it? There I was, asleep and caught within the throes of a debilitating flu. I was more useless than a poopy flavored popsicle stick. I was having dreams of getting my cock ran over by a trash truck for what reason I couldn't fathom. Then I was naked in the street with people pointing and laughing. Again, I don't know why; this was the worst dream ever. However, I sensed something else doing on. For some reason all this shitty-ness was making me… less pliable in certain areas.
I was sporting a fever and a sore throat as I was beginning to awake, her hand was working it's magic using her stick-shift action grip. Certainly this wasn't happening… again. Oh but it was and while the rest of me had no desire to get “going” I knew that a woman's desires cannot be denied. I moaned a bit, mostly from feeling like shit, but that was a cue apparently. Like an elite thoroughbred rider, she hopped up on top of me, slowly moving and then thrusting herself upon me with an increasing (somewhat alarming) sense of purpose. Her moans were intoxicating as she dug her finger nails into my chest. The pain felt good and made me forget my flu-stricken body. She did as she pleased and I was the willing enabler, of course. Then, she was done with me; a with a big sigh and a smile, she slumped over and was lightly snoring minutes later. Her parting comment “thanks.” Still makes me laugh when I recall that particular situation.
I don't know if you're a morning boinker or if you get your kicks on at night. I really don't know that I have a preference. I just know that while I was sick, my woman wanted every “bit” of me and more; I didn't know what to do. It was a long weekend and I had nowhere to run and nowhere to hide. Not that I make a habit of running from naughty encounters, but there was nothing good-looking about me, I'm sure I smelled awful and my hair looked like something you might see Ronald McDonald sport. I was not my “George Clooney” best (yes, I know I look NOTHING like him. Shut up!)
Like a good sport, I tried to “fight the good fight.” I tried to stall my gal's advances (which were many) citing my sickly-ness. However, it was that witching hour; the time when cops say “If you're out at that time, you're up to no good, or working the graveyard-shift;” my woman would attack and pounce. Again, I awoke to find that was not in control of the show happening atop of me. Taking advantage and taking what was hers; she again rode and rode and rode; digging finger nails into flesh; breathing heavily sometimes in long gasps, sometimes in short breaths. She didn't give a shit that I was sick; her desire overrode my basic need to “not fuck.”
I ran my fingers up her thighs, which were cold, yet sweaty; the girl had been working herself very hard. She looked down at me innocently. I'd had enough of being used as a toy for her own fiendishly sexually perverted reasons. It was my turn. I roughly clutched her pencil-thin wrists and threw her to the side and took what I wanted from her. I could feel the heat in my chest, not from my fever, but from the claw marks she left. The pain, left a warm feeling across my chest like nothing else I'd felt. This turned me on and made me mad at the same time. I was being used as nothing more than a plaything by a woman who felt it was her right to take advantage of my sick-ass body in the wee hours of the morning. I would have that not more. I thrust into her repeatedly; groans were spat out, sweat dripped; hair pulled and flesh slapped and clawed over and over again. I ignored her pleas to fuck her this-way-or-that and did with her as I pleased. Grabbing her hair, I forced her face-down, dug my fingers into her soft hips and did what I wanted to do with her. I wasn't nice about it, flesh smacked into flesh; each drive more intense than the last. I told her “you fucking like this, bitch? Do you!!?” She pulled away and shoved me to the wall and kissed me, again, digging her nails into me; she jumped on me and pulled me to the bed. Her legs wrapped around me so tightly, as she bit me, drawing blood. It hurt and I was unable to breathe from the exertion and from the vice around my waist, yet I couldn't have been more turned on… She whispered into my ear: “I own you, love.”
She's right. She did. She does…
PS. This lady I write about is asleep right now and I think, after writing this, I have some follow-up commentary for her… brb
This post is another in the Insomnia Club Series, just check out the link for more information. Here are some more posts and linkage from my fellow Insomniacs.
Here are some other posts for this month's topic. I suggest you check them out.