I have never wanted to be anyone’s slut more than his. Only he has made my pussy pour with juices, enough for him to slide four fingers inside me and threaten me with the thumb, no lube required. Only he has managed to transfix my erotic imagination enough that I am willing to do anything for him.
It is not just his cock, though that is the most perfect specimen I’ve seen: seven inches, with a naturally semi-circumcised appearance so his tip always peeks temptingly above his foreskin; and hard within seconds of my touching it, if not before.
Desire is certainly a part of it – the way he can walk through the door and have me bent over the kitchen unit with his cock inside me within seconds; the way his cock is usually hard long before I can touch it, merely from the sight of my body. I do not need to show myself off for him – though he does appreciate it. But even in comfy cotton pyjamas, he sees the body that lies beneath, whispers that I am beautiful, grips my arse and grasps for my tits, sometimes cupping, sometimes reaching straight for the nipples to harshly twist.
His variety – our variety – is another reason I gush for him. We have rarely had the same sex twice, aside from spooning comfort-sex when sleepy. I never know what to expect – aside from an open mind and a willingness to play.
This weekend, we went from sitting on the sofa to frantically wanking each other while watching harcore porn. He emulated what I saw on screen after searching for porn to please the filthiest side of my mind. He knows what I want. He wants it too. We reflect each other’s darkness while basking in the light of mutual appreciation. He is my slut and I am his.
He always used to wear the cock in the relationship but as we’ve grown to know each other, shared more of ourselves, it has increasingly become my role. I love the feeling as my cock slides into his arse, the dildo base pressing deliciously into my pubic mound, the harness teasing my clit. I love the look in his eyes as he sits on top of me, sliding ever lower onto my cock until he is resting on my balls and I can grind against him, watching him carefully so I know when I’ve hit his sweet spot. I love taking him slowly then fucking him hard, treating him as the slut he wants to be for me.
It is as if we unleash each other’s fullest selves, all barriers broken down, all secrets out. He is the only person I would allow to watch porn with me with a hand on my pussy, letting him see the depravity that makes me gush, giving him the ability to humiliate me for my desires. Or make them come true. I love the honesty of my cunt in his hand, fingers buried up to the knuckles, noisy wetness leaving no doubt as to my state.
We can flip in a moment: from me fucking his arse with a dildo to him overpowering me, pinning me down and fucking me with the full length of his cock, producing a pair of nipple clamps just as I slip into substate through the relentless hammering he gives me, before pulling out and burying his face in my cunt. He worships my pussy as I worship his cock, and now more than ever, I let him gorge himself on my body, more confident in claiming pleasure for myself the further I let him inside me.
Fucking him, being fucked by him brings out the dirtiest thoughts from the depths of my mind. Knowing I can fuck his throat and make his cock hard by forcing him to choke on my cock gives me a thrill only equalled by that I get when he picks me up, flips me to lie over the edge of the bed with my head back and slides his cock into my throat only stopping when his balls are within the reach of my tongue. Knowing he gets equal thrills from submitting to my will as forcing me to acquiesce means I never know what will happen next: our sex happens entirely in the moment and can span the full spectrum of emotions.
We have given our bodies to each other. We push ourselves and each other in equal measure, new depravities slipping into our fantasies if not realities. Not that we have left many fantasies unfulfilled: everything but those involving other people has been done. At least, until we are playing again and some new idea springs to mind, adding a new dimension to a familiar comfort and creating new fantasies.
Every fantasy I confess is validated by him, and often developed further into an even darker places – sparks in the shadows. I want his juices filling me, covering me, the smell of our sex in the air and the taste of it in my mouth. He relishes my cunt, lapping at it while wanking, telling me how sweet I taste. It is filthy. It is delicious. It is our dirty little secret and only he knows the true depths we are prepared to descend to, given enough teasing and arousal.
Are we good influences on each other? I do not know. But we are connected in our debauchery; sluts for each other.
Maybe one day we will invite others to play. But for now, he is enough – I have yet to manage everything he desires. I have yet to push his limits properly. There is more training to be done.
My cunt is hungry for him. And he has plenty of come to feed my desire.