That's Just How I Like It - Sex Stories

That's Just How I Like It

It's just one of those days when he is at the right place at the right time, and my mind is in a tight place and wantsout.

Doesn't matter what you say, what you do; my hungry greed will twist it into something to latch onto and misuse the shit out of it.

I'm the monster under your bed, and this is the night I crawl out and launch forth to wreak havoc. I blow a mist of sleep paralysis onto your helpless body and blast the stereo with thick bass only the two of us can hear. I bounce on your bed and on your lungs till you cannot breathe. I stand over you, looking into your face. "This is me. Follow me. Don't you want out of lucid lullaby land?"

The way I'm measuring you up, you know all this, you know what you're in for. At least deep inside. Like very, very deep. So deep that that rock would never hit the bottom of the well of your soul. Yet you hold my hand

and jump.

"How can you be this fucking hard when I didn't even touch you?"

"You bit my neck..."

"Mmmm."

"And my ear..."

Forgot about that.

"And clawed my thighs."

"Mmm, yes, I probably have. Do you want more?"

"Do I fuck?"

I could tell you it is my husband I'm having this delightful conversation with. Or the guy I've fucked in the club's toilet last weekend. Or my forever crush from the gym, who is so out of my league that it hurts in places I never knew existed.

Or it could be my ex-boss, the one I hated with such passion, yet still fucked in cowgirl on top of his pretentious ...

... half-room mahogany desk, getting off him just before he spurted his load all over the same posh desk. I stood there drinking in his curses, hoping for a stain, that I knew won't happen because, on that very desk, I also fucked that all-important new customer I was supposed to entertain. Entertain, I did.

"Here, you can wipe yourself with this." I handed him the creased resignation letter that I previously may or may not have spat on.

Most theatrical walk-out of my life.

But it doesn't matter. It could be anyone. It's between me and this fucking fabulous cock right here. It's between the serpent coiled around my neck and your submissive puppy face. This is escape. This is sport.

So let's fucking go!

How can someone so little, so on her knees, look up to you as if the roles were reversed, and she was fucking deity and you just a speck of muck?

Well...

Because resting in my pocket is the pair of my favourite stainless steel handcuffs.

Also, because it's just a fantasy.

Or is it?

Growling playfully, my tongue follows the soft tissue from his knee to his groin then I bite into the inside of his thigh with full open jaw. Not strong enough to seriously hurt but strong enough to demonstrate that I could rip his femoral artery out if I wanted to. 'Wanted' is probably not the correct word.

Tempted to? Spurred? Crazed? Help me outta here. I'm too busy trying to rein that whatever.

Taming that urge is almost just as hard as you are. I've spent most of my ...