Welcome to another episode of Bedtime Stories with Salty Vixen. Tonight’s episode is “Restrain” . Dear My Doctor, My Alpha Male, My Dom, Sir. You were on my mind today. I was thinking about our deep conversations we had.
I could talk to you about things I couldn’t open up to anyone about. When it came to sex, you knew how shy I was about it and yet with you, I could open up. What is it about you, Sir? Why do I care about you still?
The answer is, you were always kind to me. Also I enjoyed fucking you. You were the only man who knew how to get me turned on in an instant. No other man could. Yes, you are THAT good. You are a God of fucking.
I miss that.
I miss the late night calls for phone fucking. Do you wish you could do that again? Let’s begin..
Right, quit fucking about now. Fuck me. Or let me fuck you. I don’t care which way around it is, I just need to feel your dick inside me and your hands on my naked body and your lips … don’t even get me started on just how much I’ve been thinking about your lips.
We’re on eight months-ish of no fucking. Whatever strength I had before is fading away. I’m no longer calm. I don’t want to be patient or understanding. I’m not in the mood to make jokes about it.
I need you to lie back, let me undress you and then let me fuck you. I need to come hard … on you. Not on my fingers, silently, barely daring to move as you sleep next to me in bed. Or with one hand bracing myself against the tiles as I take the shower head down from the wall and position those powerful jets exactly where they can work their magic. Or even using my trusted vibrator, the most reliable tool in my box of tricks, guaranteed to get me off every time – and usually in just a couple of minutes.
But Sir.. I don’t want any of that.
I don’t even care if I’ve gotta work for it. I’ll beg for it.
I just want you. Your cock. Your fingers. Your tongue. Yes, that magical tongue of yours. Whatever. I’ll take what I can get as long as it’s yours.
What I’m really craving is the way you make me feel. I can get myself off, no problem, and I’ve even got an array of faux dicks to replace yours, but I can’t make my skin feel like it’s on fire like you can. I can’t make my heart skip a nervous beat the way you can. I can’t feel the weight of your body, or be surprised by a change in pace, or be taken aback by a harsher nipple bite than expected when I’m by myself.
That’s what I miss: the feel of fucking. The feel of your cock in my pussy.
Not knowing when the palm of your hand will make contact with the flesh of my ass cheeks.
Not being prepared when you finally push your fingers inside me and nudge your thumb against my clit.
Not being sure what it’ll take for me to finish this time, or how long it will take to get me there.
When I do it all myself I can pretty much set a timer. It doesn’t matter whether I’m using my fingers or one of my toys, I know how to get myself there – quickly, quietly, with as little hassle and fuss as possible. Danger wanks are my specialty, an art I’ve been strenuously perfecting over the last eight months of accidental celibacy. Orgasms come easily and freely, literally, for me.
But when you do it, it’s different. Completely different. And I want that.
I never know when you’re going to switch from your fingers to your tongue or from your tongue to your dick. Or when you’ll decide I need to move from on-my-back to on-my-front. I’m not sure when it’ll all be over, or how long I’ve got to try and get to where I need to be. Not that we have any problems getting me there, of course, but there’s more pressure when you’re involved.
And I want that pressure. I want to feel the disgruntlement of being taken right to the edge before my big finish is stolen away by an irritating change in speed. And to get ever-so-slightly annoyed when you jump straight from fingers to dick – no tongue, because finishing all over your face is one of my absolute favorite things to do and I hate it when you deny me of that. Or maybe it’s seeing that boyish grin as you lick your lips and wipe your beard afterward that’s my real favorite thing, a sense of proud accomplishment written all over your face?
But it’s not just about the big finish when I’m with you, although there’s no denying that it’s usually pretty spectacular. The build-up is just as exciting as the grand finale and oftentimes I don’t want the grand finale to come at all. I want the build-up to continue, to last for as long as we can make it. I want you to leave me feeling frustrated, angry, hopeful, impatient, demanding, eager, and bratty. I want you to bring out every emotion in me, all of them, one by one, just like you used to. I want the ebbs and flows, missteps, and awkward, intimate moments.
I want to enjoy it, let me enjoy it, all of it. Start to finish. The good stuff and the bad.
I want it all. I need it. I need you.
I need to fix this.
PLEASE FUCK ME. OR LET ME FUCK YOU.
