Razor edge

I always believed being uninhibited would lead me down paths I’d never return from. That exploring passion was a dangerous thing. That religious upbringing that takes an unhealthy turn at points. I get unbalanced so easily and I need black and white explanations to keep that balance.

Life isn’t so clear cut, I quickly learned. Passion isn’t as dangerous as I once thought, and there’s something unbelievably satisfying about finding a level of pleasure in something.

I talk about spanking a lot. The way it’s a sexual experience, adding clarity without the emotional upheaval of sex. I typically don’t mix the two not wanting to ruin the pleasure of being spanked by tossing sex into the mix. I need my balance, if that makes sense.

But spanking causes a physical reaction. The pain transforms and turns into this ache that I need to satisfy. I want a cock in my pussy right that second because I am pliable and want to be moulded more, desperately.

I like to deny myself though.

Moments after, my ass throbs with a fierce heat. Moving is a pain and I welcome the touch of fingers on my bruised spots to soothe and intensify the pain. As I sit, minutes, hours, days after the heat focuses like a fire between my thighs. My forced denial seems to coalesce deep in my gut in an unbelievable way.

I find myself almost desperate. I can’t have clothes on and my hand can’t stop alternating between caressing the sore spots on my butt and caressing the wet lips of my cunt. 

I am liquid and I need to cum.

The sheets against me are agonizing pleasure, but I lie on my back anyway. I gasp from the pain, the pleasure, and my need to have them simultaneously. My need to have something between my thighs giving me relief.

My fingers circle my clit, coaxing more wetness from me. If I were less impatient, I’d draw it out with just the two fingers on that spot.

I’m. Not. Patient.

The waiting reaches a boiling point and I need to quick satisfaction only my hitachi will give me. My pink vibrator slips between my wet lips and the buzz of the hitachi makes me bite my lip.

It’s fast but perfect. The thrust of that dildo, my sore bottom on the sheets, my mind wandering to the hand that makes my mind blank so well… Perfect

I’m groaning my pleasure to the room as I release all that pent-up energy. I feel balanced once more. 

I’m using MM as some form of cathartic writing therapy apparently. Check out the other options, will you?