Fuckery, an introduction.
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Sometimes a girl just wants to fuck.
Sure, I could do the pleasantries, talk about the weather, where you're from, and what you're about. But honestly, even that can get a little tiring. Don't get me wrong, I love build up and conversations can be the best foreplay. But in the end, can't we just move based on chemistry, not ideals and needs and playing the game?
In general, I'm very picky. In terms of life needs, I know what kind of partner I want and what morals and ethics I need them to be about. I can meet those needs. I can have those boundaries. I can navigate that. The hum drum of building a life.
What I want more of, is to act on the base need of fucking. Not because we really connect and you get me on another level or because I admire your volunteer work and the career path you've set up for yourself. Those things are important in a lot of ways, a lot of the time.
But when it comes to fucking, the only PC thing I want in the bedroom is consent. Once that's covered, we're just fucking.
Pure fuckery. That's hot. Moving the way your body wants, when it wants and interacting with the other person. With confidence. Display your need. Tell me what you want. Be vulnerable enough to put it out there, and be assertive as necessary. Or unnecessarily because being assertive leads to being aggressive and you really need to dom out. Top out.
I get so tired of words, introductions, learning about each other. Here's what I do want to discuss:
What do you want to do to me?
What do I want to do to you?
I hope, a very, very lot.
BDSM Contracts are useful tools for discussion, and especially helpful in building long term fuckeryships and again, for consent. But if you're a Top doing your job right, helping me to feel safe, prioritizing my needs along with yours, I'll be able to tell you what I want and just how I need it, and you, oh you, will deliver. Endlessly.
How I want it.
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It's a hot day. I know I shouldn't drink another beer, but the cool condensation on the can and the crisp bite of the carbonation are so much more satisfying than water. I take another sip, and lick the liquid from my upper lip. I look across the outdoor patio, eyeing you again, and this time, give a nod.
Standing up you start to walk towards me, slowly, almost like you're stalking your prey. That's only because in reality, we both know you are.
The thin black satin strip around my neck marks me as an available sub, and I've watched you stare at my neck all evening. The butterflies of anticipation of your mouth tracing behind the path your eyes have already laid dance in my stomach and my heart continues to race. You sit down, thumbing the condensation on your own drink.
"It's hot," you say.
"Could be hotter..." I retort.
You smirk and give me side eye, deciding how much I need to lead initially to feel safe and in control, until I give the control over to you.
You start out leaning back in your chair, but as you speak you lean in.
"Could be. Depends on what you're up for..." you leave the floor open to me, to simply state what it is I want, what I need.
I raise my eyebrow. "I know what I'm up for, I'm just looking for a Top to keep up for the night." There it is, a clear indication. I need some kinky fuckery with someone willing and able to take control, for multiple hours. On a one time basis. I'm not looking for love, I'm looking for lust.
A short laugh. "That all?" you ask.
"I find it's a tall order for most. A few hours of topping to lead to sex. It takes a combination of patience and dominance." I've found that most think they can sate me out of cockiness, but they don't know my libido, or the depth of my thirst.
"Tell me more." Open body language. You're genuinely interested and surprised. My guess, you're starting to sense a challenge coming on, and you're the kind who likes to rise to it.
"Honestly... to put it plainly, I need things rough so I can drop into subspace. To have you prove that you're deserving, for me to give you everything. So I want and need, a lot of physical, rough, touch, in all the ways, and deprivation, before we actually get to any kind of stimulation or penetration."
As you listen, you narrow your eyes at me, taking in the details. Picturing the acts, you pull your lip through your teeth. Slowly.
"Limits?" is all you ask.
"The usual. No scat, blood, or fluid bonding." I take a long pull from my beer.
You tilt your head and squint your eyes further, as if you don't believe me. You're going to test me, I can tell.
