Category Archives: fuck

Seed and Swallow

swal·low1
ˈswälō
verb
 1.
  1. cause or allow (something, especially ejaculate) to pass down the throat.
    “she swallowed a mouthful slowly”
    noun
  1. 1.
    an act of swallowing something, especially ejaculate.
    “she downed his ejaculate in one swallow”

    ShowLove

    I took a long and lazy break away from writing that I am not proud of.  However, it is the nature of me to wax and wane on things that require my attention outside of my King.  A particular topic has ignited my passion to write this post, even though the clutches of laziness for writing had a grip on me with great strength.

    What topic could inspire me from such depths, you ask?

    The topic of SWALLOWING.

    I have recently come to a shocking social discovery amongst my peers.  Many of the females I know, either rather well or just by brief acquaintance, do not swallow their man’s cum.  But, this isn’t just a matter of not swallowing, no.  These women express that they don’t like his cum and find it “disgusting”. Now, this discovery bothers me on so many levels and I feel the need to address each one; not only because it does my psyche well to express things that frustrate me, but because maybe this will resonate with the very few people who will actually read this post.

    My King is a fantastic pussy eater.  He is passionate, aggressive, and will quite literally devour me.  He is very complementary of my taste, and hearing the rumblings of, “You taste so fucking good” escape his muffled (get it?) mouth generates a fire within me that ignites my femininity from the most dormant recesses of my body.  He never hesitates, never waits, and never progresses toward my pussy with caution.  I never go long without being exceptionally eaten.  My King insists upon making me cum, using his muscular strength to lock down my hips as they buck energetically in anticipation of my orgasm.  When I do cum, I flood.  He will proceed to press harder into my flesh, lapping more and more with each twitch of my body.  As his moans grow deeper, he usually thrusts a finger or two inside of me, only to lick them clean after pulling them from my body.  I feel like a goddess.  I feel beautiful, desired, owned, and utterly appreciated for being a woman.  His woman.

    I cannot imagine if, upon the first signs of my impending orgasm, my King pulled away from my pussy and proceeded to rub my clit to finish the deed.  I cannot fathom how I would feel if his mouth stayed on my cunt long enough to finish my orgasm, only to spit out whatever saliva he had in his mouth that still tasted of me.  I would be devastated if my husband asked that I cum on his chest, and after my orgasm, he took a towel and wiped me off him while making a face akin to a face one would make while wiping off a bird shit from their t-shirt.

    Yet, this appears to be commonplace behind closed doors.  I can’t understand, for the life of me, why a man would accept any of these behaviors from a woman, especially a woman you are committed to monogamously.  Why are men so tolerant of a woman viewing their seed in such a way, when a woman would never be as tolerant?  Is this another reflection of our cultures growing inequality and demasculinization of men in the name of “feminism”?  Are men starting to feel like that’s “just the way it is” and cum swallowing women are saved for viewing porn?  And what about in a marriage, where you have promised to spend the rest of your lives together in a monogamous relationship, and you have a lifetime of feeling the cold air hit your cock just prior to orgasm.  If your wife is reluctant, or downright refuses to swallow your cum, what other doors will be shut in the realm of your sexual experiences together?  How does this not frighten these men straight into the arms of a receptive woman?  Perhaps this is sometimes the reason for affairs, and if so, I don’t blame the men for wanting to put their cocks in a welcoming mouth.

    Yet, it would still be the man’s fault.  He would still be labeled a “dog” and scorned by the vast majority of those around him.  He would still go to sleep feeling the tinge of guilt on his conscious for acting on desires that went unmet…

    For wanting to be WANTED.

    I’m not saying a woman needs to love cum.  I’m not saying that she must get on her knees before her man, mouth agape, batting her eyelashes, parched and desperate for his cum.  I’m not saying a woman needs to scoop her man’s cum into her hands and devour it like a toddler does with a slice of birthday cake.  I am suggesting that a woman should swallow a man’s cum when he wants to leave his cock in her mouth to orgasm.  I am suggesting a woman should show appreciation for her man’s cum as if it’s her pleasure to please him.  I am suggesting that when sharing your bodies, there should be very few things you find distasteful about one another and cum should NOT be one of them.

    I would argue that the taste of orgasm should be seen as a reward.  Brining your loved one to orgasm should be something of an accomplishment to be cherished and valued.  Most common arguments from women for not swallowing cum can easily be resolved:  If you don’t particularly like the taste of his cum, use flavored organic lube.  If you don’t like the feeling of his cum hitting you in the back of the throat, deep throat him.  If you can’t deep throat because it makes you gag, use a product that numbs the back of your throat temporarily.  Or better yet, practice deep throating.  You can significantly improve your gag reflux by practicing, and I’m fairly confident your man would be a willing participant as you practice.  Bottom line, there is no excuse for not swallowing.  It is inexcusable to treat the product of your man’s orgasm as intolerable.  Step outside of yourself and imagine how that rejection would feel.

    And if, as a man, you feel guilty when holding the opinion that a woman should swallow…Don’t.  Women don’t struggle gulping down ridiculous drinks to lose 10 lbs; swallow smelly, bad tasting herbs to improve their hair and skin.  Women will eat certain foods that are disgusting to improve their beauty and health without hesitation.  If she’s unwilling to swallow your cum, you should find it insulting.  She is basically saying that your pleasure isn’t worth her discomfort, and by accepting that, you are saying that her opinion is okay.  You are rewarding her pettiness, and that is unacceptable.

    I find it tragic that so many women will treat their men in a way that would make them feel rejected.  A man who tolerates this behavior perpetuates this double standard.  Just because we have been cultured to feel that a man’s emotions and need to feel appreciated is an afterthought doesn’t make it true.  Just because we often place men into roles with a purpose meanwhile quickly dismissing their need to feel like a man, doesn’t mean they aren’t longing to feel like a man.  Just because you may not WANT to doesn’t ultimately make it unnecessary.

    If it’s true that actions speak louder than words…

    SWALLOW.


Fifty Shades of M

wpid-8559719f2ec0b44907841900405b1083.jpg

I’m feeling particularly feisty today…a delightful post I wrote a while ago before this blog existed.

I love a man with manners, but respect is more important in the bedroom.  The female obsession with Fifty Shades of Grey is basically the cry out for the good fuck that women don’t know how to ask for.  It’s quite simple really. Women are sick of taking care of you.  They are sick of having to take the lead in your everyday life.  They are always in control.  They want you to show them that you still know how to make their thighs tremble.  You are not a dependent little boy.  She wants to know that you can take her as passionately as she imagines the man next door could.

Does this scene sound familiar:  You are tired from a hard day of work.  You struggle to get dinner on the table within a reasonable time before you need to go to bed.  You are already preparing yourself for tomorrow’s work day.  You are exhausted, but there is a reasonable part of you that recognizes that you haven’t had sex with your partner in a while.  You proceed to get ready for bed and climb under the covers…clothed.  You turn on the television and settle in, your arm pressed snugly against the side of your partner’s body.  You don’t say much, but you begin to kiss or touch each other in a somewhat suggestive manner.  You can pretty much predict the routine that will follow.  He will follow the same “pleasure trail” as usual.  Right breast…Left breast…a little fondling…he’ll trace a line down your stomach in simple, meek kisses.  He’ll pay some oral attention to you, assuming it’s pleasurable.  He’ll assume his spectacular oral skills are making you wet, when in reality, it’s just his saliva.  You don’t make much effort toward him, because you have a headache.  You then have approximately 3 to 5 minutes of sex resembling the pace of a metronome.  If you’re lucky, you’ll cum.  But, you’re not really concerned with this anyway…because…well, you have a headache.  Plus, you know he’ll keep going in his sad attempt to satisfy you if you don’t lie about it.

You’re a timid bunch, gentleman.  The world has emasculated you.  Sure, you may not be 18 anymore; but, you still have the glorious effects of that surging testosterone.  Most women agree that a man who is unapologetic in their attraction to them is a complete turn on.  Stop being coy and delivering the same punches you’ve always thrown.  It’s time for a new bag of tricks.  It’s time for you to reclaim yourself as an alpha male.  It’s time you took control in a much bigger way.  I’m going to switch rolls a bit here.  I will have the cock.  I will successfully lay the pipe.  And it goes a little something like this:

I walk in from a hard day of work.  Throughout the day, I’ve envisioned all the many ways I was going to make you surrender to me.  I pictured myself with a handful of your blond hair, shoving myself deep into your mouth.  You’d be staring up at me, and this would give me a sense of elevation.  You are always telling me what to do.  I am always asking for your permission.  I imagine you, face down, and leaned over the kitchen counter with your legs spread.  I am deep inside you, and with every thrust, you are pushed against the cool countertop making your nipples hard.

I watch you make dinner.  I admire your curves.  I envision the positions I’m going to put you in when we go upstairs…when everyone is asleep.  We finish with the mundane tasks of our evening and head upstairs.  You’re at the sink beginning to wash your face.  I come up behind you.  I take my hand and run it up the back of your head, grabbing a significant handful of hair.  I pull the hair downward, exposing your neck.  You’d expect me to go there next, but I don’t.  I proceed to spread your legs apart and penetrate you with my fingers. I keep the grip on your hair, tugging a little with every thrust of my fingers.  I push you face down onto the counter, with my fingers still inside you; I pull your ass up to meet my face.  I tongue you from behind.  Not too much.  Just enough.  I turn you around and hold your face within my hands at my waist level.  I bend down to grab your breasts.  I am just delicate enough to not bruise you.  I’d part your lips with my thumb, opening your mouth and rub the head of my cock on your lips.  You suck me in.  You wouldn’t be shy about it because I wouldn’t let you.  I sense you’re beginning to enjoy yourself, so I stand you back up.  I aggressively grab your hips and bend you in half.  I thrust into you.  I don’t proceed gently.  I take a free hand and grasp your shoulder to enable me to penetrate you deeper.  I finger your clit while I’m inside of you.  My strokes are long and deep.  I hold my cock inside of you and feel you clench around me.  I fuck you ridiculously, furiously and barbarically.  I pull out.  I have to taste you.  I have to taste “us”.  I lift you onto the countertop and spread your legs in front of me.  I kneel in front of you and bury my face in your sex.  I nibble on your lips and flatten my tongue, rubbing it along your clit from side to side.  I bring you to climax. Before you recover, I put myself back in your mouth.  You attempt to resist, but I only want you to know how good you taste.  We stumble toward the bed, and I lay you on your back.  I enter you and fuck you so deeply, you’d swear I was trying to part you in half. Your nails are digging deep into my back, your face buried in my chest.  With each thrust, I bring you closer to the edge of the bed.  Your head and upper body are draped over the edge, and I watch your tits bounce with each thrust.  You struggle to brace yourself and I grab the tops of your thighs and penetrate you deeper.  You feel every kick of my orgasm.  I pull you back onto the bed and lay on top of you, remaining inside of you.  You are not allowed to clean up.  I stay inside you until I start to soften.  When I pull out, I watch our passion trickle out of you.  I watch your body rise and fall with each exacerbated breath.  Exhaustion will claim us both shortly and this is the last vision I want to have before it does.

This does not have to be a fantasy.  This is not a passage from a book.  Don’t allow me to fuck your women better than you do…

Fuck Fifty Shades of Grey


Fuck You!

Have you ever just wanted to walk up to a stranger, tap them on the shoulder and exclaim, “Hey…FUCK YOU!”

I’m in a strange way tonight.  I’m not sure what is going on with my mind.  Please, allow me some sweet written release.

I’m in the kind of mood that makes you feel like committing career suicide.  The woman that I work closely with is rather ugly.  Mind you, I’m typically not one to place myself physically superior.  But, this woman is ugly; and, this woman has gone out of her way to make my life miserable between the hours of 9 to 5.  She and my boss have a twisted, work “husband/wife” relationship.  I assume work the only place she finds acceptance and importance in the world.  Today, I was wearing a fabulous pair of high heeled, knee high black boots.  I paired them nicely with a figure flattering sweater dress.  I sat at my desk rather un-lady like, my legs spread apart providing a nice breeze for my lovely box. My desk is rather perfect for picking wedgies or adjusting my clit ring when it gets caught up in my thong.  No one knows that I sit like this at my desk, because there is an apparatus that prevents anyone from seeing from the front of the desk.  I have a professional reputation to uphold, afterall.  Anyway…I digress.  I had a fantasy that went a little something like this:

I kicked over my desk with my fucking ass-kicking knee high boots.  I strutted over to Ugly as my slightly curled, tousled hair fell over the side of my face.  I grabbed a fist full of her nasty, unkempt black hair and backhanded her across her face.  I then proceeded to take the black ball point Bic pen (that she is obsessed with) and colored all over the gigantic mole that graces her cheek.  I then colored in the spots where her mustache is growing in rather splotchy.  “No worries, bitch, I got you covered”, I say.  I then take her horrendous Winnie the Pooh figurines and break them, one.by.one.  If there is one thing I loath in life more than any other, it’s a grown woman obsessed with stuffed animals, Disney characters, or any other cutesy animated character from childhood.  I break each and every one of her cutesy figurines and stick a big rubber dildo in her mouth.  Now, don’t ask me where I got a big dildo.  I don’t carry dildos around with me because they would make my purse weight too heavy; but, in this fantasy, a whipped out a giant black King Kong dildo that matched her nasty black hair perfectly, and I shoved it in her shit-talking, snitch, hairy upper-lipped mouth.  I proceeded to rip approximately 10 leaves off of her stupid ass Christmas cactus, tossing them in her face one by one, and I walked my happy ass out of my office.

If only fantasies were reality…

I have a beautiful house.  Unfortunately, I have a tweaker house next to mine.  Seven people live in this house to afford it, and it appears only two actually work.  These mother-fuckers are dirty; they carelessly leave water bottles, wrappers, and various other forms of trash in the street in front of my lovely abode.  Yesterday, I walked out in my 6 inch heels and pick up the various forms of trash from the street.  I happily walked them over to their yard and dumped them all over their front lawn.  I hoped one of those assholes came out, because this is what I fantasized I’d do:

I’d grab that skinny, piece of shit tweaker by his “garage job” tattooed neck and punch the three teeth he has remaining out of his gums.  I’d proceed to slam him to the ground and step on his throat with my high heels.  I’d take the crumbled up water bottle he so sloppily left in the street in front of my house, and I’d shove it down his throat.  I’d follow up my assault by hog tying him.  I’d heat up a spoon with my cigar lighter and give him a singular burn.  I let him know that if his disrespectful ass leaves another shred of litter near my gorgeous home, I will burn every square inch of his skin, to include his diseased cock and withering little balls.

Allow us to transition to my beautiful, Dom husband.  I have been meat gazing him, grabbing his cock and slapping his ass all night.  This frustrates him, as he doesn’t like to be “man handled”, of course, preferring to be the one delivering the spankings.  I bit him on his well-developed bicep tonight.  I tugged on his thick beard and playfully smacked him across his face.  He gave me a look like, “Dear God, woman…do you have any idea what’s coming to you?” I do…I like it…

How do people have “normal” relationships?  Normal is so deliriously boring…

Thanks for the vent, peeps!


Primal

Photo by: FervidM

Photo by: FervidM

I thrive off of a dark soul.  It’s not that I don’t enjoy happiness, or those who express an elevated state of joy on a regular basis.  As I often say…I don’t think defining a complex mind is that easy.  I am not referencing a depressed person, or someone who has deep seeded pain and suffering which manifests itself in inflicting pain upon others; unfortunately, I see too many of those kinds of people in the world, the kinds of people who bring pain upon others to alleviate what resonates within them.  I’m talking about the obscure soul that clings to the darkness for its beauty, holding tightly though a metamorphosis into something beautiful. The caterpillar to a butterfly.  I understand how deliriously cliché the metaphor, but allow me to explain:  I don’t think butterflies are more beautiful after they have gone through a metamorphosis, rather they are simply more colorful with broader wings.  They still cling to their previous physique, looking rather wormy and unappealing.  They clung to their ugly and became something more beautiful, towing their darkness along with them.  That’s the kind of soul I find nourishing in this vast land of superficial happiness.

I believe the most elevated, mind-blowing, and euphoric sexual experiences exist within the darkness of our psyche.  We hold these beautiful images in our elevated storage, locked away behind the bars of societal acceptance.  These images hide behind the cloak of assimilation.  They are fearful sorts, bashfully crouching in the corner whilst our more “pleasant” visions step forward in the light of acceptance.  If you ask me, it’s those visions I find wormy, unappealing, and void of beauty.  They are shallow, stem from minimal creativity; these visions transform themselves and show their faces proudly in open, observable world.  I fail to find sexual nirvana in a field of yellow daisies, slightly bowing their heads to a gentle breeze.  I find sexual euphoria in a perfect storm; powerful, dark, omniscient and destructive.  I want not a wall to remain, a brick to lie there, or a cobblestone of stoic composure to exist after a sexual experience.  Gives a whole new meaning to making it rain…

I thrive on his animalism.  I drink up his power as if thirsting and stumbling upon a stream.  His desires should radiate from his fingertips upon the collection of my skin, with a purpose so strong it leaves bruises upon my delicate flesh.  He shall paint the canvas of my body with his fingers, bent strongly at the knuckles, leaving red paint strokes of fervor upon my skin.  Ripples of plush breast escape through the separation of those fingers, groping with unrepressed craving.  Five finger pads dive deliriously into the lining of my sensual hips, so deep as if intended to touch finger to bone.  Capillaries merrily collapse under the force. The caterpillar to a butterfly, a mere blood vessel giving itself to the light, revealing the beauty of sensual release.  Wings to new heights.

I ask you to lose yourself in the depths so repressed, not a shred of light exists that we don’t create with the radiance of our own shared desires.  I ask that you go to the place where your “demons” lie, and allow them to find solace in my open arms.  I can taste your desire to overpower me, and I can smell your seething for release.  I know your darkness grasps upon the bars of restraint begging to reveal themselves.  I, lying there, spread myself wide in acceptance.  I will hold them close, bringing warmth upon their chilled negligence.  I will ignite them, invite them, and allow them to permeate my soul to a place of approval.  We only truly exist here; bare, stripped of the collage of expectation that becomes our face, the mask that conceals the true animal.

I will have you so removed from your evolved brain, you render yourself inhuman.  I will have you so primal that you only seek to remove your teeth from my flesh as you notice my body buckle under the pain.  I will have you utter sounds undistinguishable to those civilized.  I permit you to release the power you’ve been told to curb.  I will have your testosterone coursing so gloriously through your veins, you find yourself void of all rationale.  There is no room for thought between our compressed bodies, animal.  No accommodations for manners amongst our seeping bodily fluids, animal.  No space for judgment between the depth of your cock and my stressed vessel, animal.  No acceptance for masked sexuality in this sphere, animal.  I will have you rare, exposed.  I will have you reacquainted with the spirit you shelved.  The spirit that was pointed at, ridiculed, and accused of being dirty, ugly, sinister, strange.  I will erase the memories of desertion upon your animal within the baptismal fluids of my sex.  You will be reborn primal; your darkness turning to light, “demons” dance amongst us, acceptance encapsulates us, “strange” is welcomed here, bizarre is amongst company.

We, the dark ones, have no interest in you beautiful people.  You delicately dance atop the sheets covered with boundaries delightfully freshened with Downy.  We writhe, hand in hand with our demons and celebrating the dark recesses with sexual decadence.   You do what you believe is beautiful, afraid to release yourself into the depths of your sexuality, a foot firmly anchored to expectation.  We approach the cliff, fling ourselves off and fall freely into the fire.  You enjoy the safety of delicate hands controlled by a manipulated being, a diluted prowess, a whipped rebel.  We enjoy restraining the body, while freeing the mind, emancipating the soul.  You enjoy your human.  We plea for the animal.  You need the light to see color, and we cannot see color until we’re plunged deeply into the darkness.

Free yourselves,

Fervid M