so I'm a slut!

People call me different names; some say that I'm liberated. They say that I am passionate or brave or free. Those people use the polite ways of saying what everyone else says. They say that I am a slut, a no good diurty slut. Those people would tell you that I am a dick tease; I am cold, hartles, selfish and indiscreet. The people around me have lots of different ways of walking the same thin line, remaining superior to me whilst keeping open any future option of fucking me. They may disapprove but they are always secretly envious.

I'm not ashamed. From the first accidental friction from the seam in my teenage jeans, to the hardest fisting I have screamed through, I am not ashamed. I was born with this body and it has changed over the years. It has picked up scars and marks. It has grown and swelled. It has been a landscape for suffering. But it is mine and mine alone. Men and women have had my attention and my heart. But my body has always been my own. I bring it new men and sexy girls and they enjoy it but it always remains mine to come home to. It has continued to bring me new kinds of pleasures, my flesh serving me endless bliss till I wonder that there can be any left in the world for me.

You pull my red hair out of its fastenings and tug it while you fuck me, till you can see the angle of my smile. The roots tighten in your grip and you think this is all for you. It's all for me, my hair long and loose in your hands, the sharp pain and the orgasm it builds is all for me. You remove my clothes piece by piece, all the lingerie and stockings, the buckled shoes you happily kneel to undo, all the trophies I leave on your floor for you to brag about. You remark on my pretty dress and I tell you that it's all for you. I never lie. But each layer peeling away makes me smile a smile you don't notice in your rush to touch me. My skin is mine to reveal and you only ever get it when I choose. I choose to reveal it when it suits me.

You kiss every single bit of me. Each nerve ending has been traced over and caressed, every possible way of fluttering eyelids, moans, wet lips and sighing has been induced. You still smear my makeup, welt my skin, and lick my feet; but my capacity for climax is endless. I enjoy it so much more than you can tolerate sometimes. I see your envy and frustration. Each position is a challenge, what can my body do, and what can your body do? I can feel your thighs and back, your approaching orgasm crossing your face but you suppress it regardless. On the inside, I grin at how hot it is to watch you labour for me. It's never enough, not even making love is enough sometimes. You hold me softly, you kiss me tenderly, say that 'it's okay to cry, let the tears come.' You tell me you love me, call me by my first and my last name, like one day I will have your last name. Because sometimes getting married is what gets you there, that's our dirty secret.

Truth is, it's always power with you; I give you what you need because it turns me on to grant you it. You talk dirty down the phone and you listen to me come on command to the sound of your voice, so much so that maybe you forget what I can persuade you to say in the heat of passion. You want the porn stuff, the transgressions. You want to use and abuse me. We do all the disgusting things you've seen because we love each other and you tell me that you don't mean it literally. True to form, the humiliation is always eclipsed by your adoring reassurances afterwards. You fuck me in the ass and watch me play greedily with my clit like you're not there. You are gratified and shocked that I can come from anal sex alone. You want to find the thing that has never been done to me before, even when you know there is very little, if any, of it left. You would never ask me what I have done and I would never tell you. But you could guess. You come in my pretty face and I look up at you with the big blue eyes you fell in love with, we both know you're the vulnerable one now.

Sometimes you want to know what I do on my own. How do I touch myself? Did I today? It's the same unspoken question, was I thinking about you? You don't just want me when you have time. You want to mentally summon me at your leisure, in the car or while you work at your desk. It's as if my body is there for your contemplation and diversion. Often you leave me, even though you know my bed won't grow cold in your absence. You hate me for letting anyone else in it, but when you come back you want to know the sordid things I did with them. But more than that, you want to know that those men and womem made me think all the more of you. You want me to have yearned for your smell and your hands and your cock. You want me to have been fucked and found the experience wanting.

It's not that I don't love you because I do. It's not that I deceive you. I give you the reflection of yourself that you want. You are the man you want to be, inducing my ragged breath, lying in my soaked sheets. Then other times you are the man you actually are, when you shake and lose your cool. When the closeness registers in your eyes and I know that you finally feel what you've longed for. You feel what is secretly inside your heart, inexpressible for so long. I don't lie to you, I grasp every ecstatic moment you give to me and feel it in total honesty. It's an honesty that alarms you and wakes your neighbours. You don't want me for my beauty, though I could be called beautiful. I'm not in your bed because I am the kindest, smartest or funniest woman you could have, though I put the fear of God in a few women you know. You make love to me because I know who you are. When I cum, you glow; all the greatest things about you are set alight in the mirror. You could say that I'm just the mirror.

They say that I am a slut. The tone of their words suggests that it is not a talent or something to be proud of. My hunger for sex with you is not indiscriminate or artless i must have it all ways you chose to work away. For me it is a language that I may forget how to speak someday. It's a mouth-watering delicacy I will never be able to recreate and serve myself. I will be an old woman and you will be mine to mull over with no regret at all. To fuck a man for sport or revenge may take wits, though I have never fucked a man for either. No, I don't just want you for love or for comfort; I want you for the chance to reveal to who you really are underneath all the bullshit. I want that moment when your eyes glaze and you can't speak. If what I do to get you there makes me a slut, well, I am your slut. But you already know that to be true.

100% (12/0)
Posted by lets-cum
1 year ago    Views: 1,298
Comments (7)
Reply for:
Reply text
Please login or register to post comments.
1 year ago
1 year ago
Beautifully written. It reminds me of a blog I used to read a few years back. Great observations and hints of the real deeper desire within you.
1 year ago
You are good at this ! ;) xx
1 year ago
1 year ago
Have you ever posted on literotica?
1 year ago
Beautifully put. You have a very deep understanding of human nature.
1 year ago
That's deep. We need mode women like you in this world ;)