Waking up on Friday and I want my fucktoy.
I want him flat on his back, his cock erect; he is my slut and I will ride him for my pleasure.
I want to slap his face, again and again; he is my bitch and I will hurt him as I please.
I want to put my hands around his throat and choke him; he is my whore and his every breath is mine to control.
This is no gentle lovemaking. This is me taking what is mine.
Using my boy for my pleasure. Using his body to give me satisfaction. Oh I may even choose to wank his cock for a while, that can be fun after all, but it is my choice how I use him. It is my choice how I take my pleasure from him.
His cock is mine, his whole body is mine. Mine to use, abuse and enjoy.
He is my fucktoy and I want him.
Because there is nothing wrong with being a slut.
He told me I was a slut and he sounded surprised.
He told me I was a slut, he who knows me so well,
But he sounded surprised.
He who knew how I desired him;
Knew how lust burned in my veins.
He who could have had me then.
With less than a breath he could have had me sucking his cock;
My lips wrapped round it, my throat full.
In a heartbeat he could have been inside my cunt;
Sliding into my dampness and filling me with his length.
In a moment he could have turned me over and taken my ass;
Stretching me with his hardness, hearing me moan.
He could have had me but he resisted.
Chose not to take what I was offering so openly.
But he told me I was a slut.
He was so right.
I woke up early and I woke up horny. Almost immediately my first thoughts were of my boy, still asleep, of how I wanted to be inside him, to fuck him. My clit was swollen with desire; I didn’t even need to touch it to know that. I lay still, consumed by hunger for his body, needing to take what was mine.
Only one thing was missing: my cock; without it I felt incomplete. My lust unsatiable. I grew increasingly frustrated, I lacked the means to satisfy my needs.
Eventually I awoke enough to know that this unbearable state could not continue. I got up and fetched down the box containing my strap on. My boy roused enough to understand what was coming. While he slipped out to the bathroom I slipped on my beautiful cock.
I lay on my back, putting the dildo in place, moving the straps into position. As I fastened the buckle on my hip I felt the tension flow away. I was complete.
The anguished throbbing of my clit faded as I stroked my own erection. I curled over on my side, relaxed, my hand curled around my cock. I could be calm now; my body was ready to satisfy my desires.
My boy came to me now. Curled on his side, I nestled behind him. My strap on pressing against his ass, telling him how I felt, what I wanted.
I had woken with an erection. I was ready to use it.
As a child I once considered sainthood as a possible career path. After a while however I noticed a serious problem with this plan. Sainthood for girls seemed generally to require two main attributes, martyrdom and virginity. Being martyred, while not highly attractive, didn’t seem too much like a deal breaker. Virginity on the other hand was clearly going to prove more challenging.
To be fair, I technically retained my virginity past the national average but even before then, it was clear that celibacy in any real and meaningful sense was not going to be an option.
It was also clear that it didn’t have to be. There was sufficient male interest to keep me satisfied even if some of it was a little unconventional and unsaintly.
I’ve never been good at going without sexual attention for more than a few days. I start by getting extremely grumpy, but if I (and those close to me) survive that for a couple of weeks then my libido simply fades away to nothing.
As I get older I worry more about that stage. I worry that desire won’t return or that it will grow weaker. I’ve come to realise that my sexuality is an important part of my identity and losing that frightens me. In some ways it’s worse because I actually know what it’s like, having lost my libido while on the pill.
Recently, for a host of good reasons, I have gone without for a few days. I worry initially that I am finding it too easy. Then reassuringly my desire leads to frustration and a keen need for sexual pleasure.
Then finally frustration becomes opportunity. I am lost in my lover’s arms. Lost in the pleasure he sends thrilling through me. Seeking for and finding pleasure until I cum, shivering and shaking with its intensity.
I’m certainly no saint.