“Use your words, babygirl.”
John Brownstone says this to me all the time. You’d think, as someone with multiple websites and podcasts, ‘using my words’ wouldn’t be so damn difficult. And truly, it’s not, except for a single aspect of our life together.
Sex. Kinky fuckery. You know — the good stuff.
I know exactly what I want…
A hands on my cunt, fingers searching, stretching, plumbing my depths.
Bent over the bed, back arched, as his pelvis pounds against my ass, flesh shifting and jiggling, bodies slapping together.
Splayed on the bed, wrists and ankles bound, a vibrator against my clit. I beg for mercy, and he responds with a dark chuckle.
Hot breath on my neck, warm hands running down my body, outlining my contours as if remaking me in his image. Skin to skin, all space between us gone. We become one.
Bruising hold on my hips. Blinding pain with each smack of my ass, scratch on my back, pinch of my nipple, bite of my flesh.
Legs spread wide as he devours my smooth cunt, lapping at my folds, sucking my clit, forcing each and every orgasm.
These are the thoughts that intrude. Each moment plays in my head like a movie. Knowing what I want is one thing. Telling him is another. To me, it’s the trickiest part of sex — initiating the moment, communicating my needs.
So far, I’ve learned to say things like, “When are you gonna fuck me again, Daddy?” and “It sure has been a long time since I’ve had a spanking.” (Cue innocent expression and a butt wiggle.)
He knows I want something, but he doesn’t know the details. The devil is in the details. So are pleasure and fulfillment and the shared knowledge that we want something more than our standard (though still good) fuck.
His cock in my mouth? I can do that.
My ass, jutting out to meet his hand, paddle, flogger…? We’re there, in that moment, together.
Fingers, pressing, pushing, searching, teasing. Yes please.
But the beginning of sex isn’t in these moments. It’s in the sharing of mutual desire, communicating my sexiest thoughts and fantasies. That’s where sex begins for us…or it used to. If I can’t manage more than an “Uhhhh, ya wanna fuck me now?” how will I ever get any of what I want?
Sex as a Sexual Submissive
Because I’m a sexual submissive (and oh yes, I most definitely am), you’d be forgiven for thinking I don’t “care” or want to have a say in the sex we have. And for the most part, that’s kind of true. I’m often very happy with whatever John Brownstone wants to do. He leads sexually, and I follow. It’s always good.
But that doesn’t mean I don’t have my own desires. Of course I have sexual fantasies and kinks I want to explore. I also have memories of the fun we’ve had in the past, memories that I’d like to revisit now that we know each other’s body even better.
It’s so easy to get caught up in what John Brownstone wants, because I want to follow his lead. I crave it. He and I know each other so well, I don’t always feel like I have to say anything. However he wants to fuck me will be good.
Not speaking up about what I want creates a potential problem, though. Eventually he won’t give me what I want, or I won’t feel fulfilled and satisfied because there’s something I’m not getting. He’s a lot of things, but a mind reader isn’t one of them. I have to say something. But I won’t lie to you…I wish he knew what I was thinking without me having to say it out loud.
If I can’t figure out how to get past my own inability to speak up, though, we’ll continue having the sex he wants to have…and very little of the sex I crave.
I guess this means I’m going to have to use my words. For the record, typing out the words should count in a blog post where I list, point-by-point, what I want should definitely count.
Welcome to Wicked Wednesday! This week’s topic is about a technical aspect of sex that we find tricky. Communicating desire and initiating what I want is definitely the most difficult part of sex for me.