I fucking love kissing. I can get myself off easily with my Doxy, and I can even smack my own cunt or tie my ankles together so I can squirm in self-bondage-d glee, but I need other cute humans for make-outs. I’ve never been kissed under mistletoe at Christmas, and I’m pretty sure that’s not going to change this year. But, hypothetically, it could…
He never just kisses me.
Not that kisses are ever just anything to me, as a friend I once made out told me before we kissed for the first time. And they were right, though I didn’t totally agree with them at the time. It’s not that every kiss has to be special or perfect, but each kiss means something to me. My kisses are an expression of desire or lust, or friendship or affection, or trust or happiness… My kisses are never just kisses, and I don’t want them to be; they mean something to me.
His kisses are never just kisses either – they are moments of delicious dominance and the very essence of why fucking him is brilliant.
He makes me work for his kisses, teasing me by pulling away just a little every time I arch up into him, seeking his lips. He overwhelms me with his kisses, his tongue deep in my mouth and the pressure unrelenting until I am aware of having to breathe.
He makes me wait, holding my face in a tight grip with his hand firm on the back of my neck for several long moments before he kisses me. It’s so hot, that feeling of being held in place and inspected. I’m pretty sure I’ve whimpered before at the calculating, possessive look in his eyes before he leans in to give me what I want.
He bit down hard on my neck – marking me, bruising me – before he ever kissed me.
Tonight, he’s not going to kiss me until he captures me, which gives me an incentive to let him win. I’m sure he will eventually, because fucking him is excellent in part because he can physically overpower me. However, tonight I want to make him work for it a little. He might be faster, stronger, and more willing to fight dirty, but I am good at hiding – even if the part of the evening I’m really looking forward to is when he chases me and pins me to the damp grass.
There is darkness and moonlight, and somewhere in the graveyard there is a tall man who is giving me five seconds to run before he comes hunting for me. I’m extremely turned on. I hold my breath; I wait.
And it takes only three minutes for him to have me to be flat on my back. I wriggle underneath him, but I’m laughing while I struggle. He is laughing too, effortlessly keeping me in place beneath him. It feels incredible to be here, not without risk of being detected but feeling safe enough that I moan loudly when he slaps my face – none too gently.
“Look up,” he says. I do. Above us, I can see white berries and shiny leaves. Mistletoe.
I push up, straining to reach his mouth. He grins, pulling further away.
“Kiss me, you sadistic bastard.”
“Only if you admit that I’ve won.”
“Fuck you,” I snap, but relented a second later. “Fine, you win sir. Kiss me, please.”
He uses one hand to pin both of mine above my head, and holds my chin tightly with the other – making me feel totally helpless and at his mercy. He makes me wait for a long time before he finally leans down, biting my lip before he presses his lips against mine.
He never just kisses me, even when they’re kisses under mistletoe.
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I do not have the spoons to be clever with recommending related-to-my-smut sex toys to y’all this week, so instead I’m going to share some Christmassy adverts for Lovehoney, because buying partners sex toys for Christmas is (in my opinion) a really fun thing to do! Also if you want to support me and you don’t live in the UK or the USA, please get in touch and I’ll send you personalised sex toy recommendations!
If you’re UK based, use this link:
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Quinn Rhodes (he/him) is a freelance journalist, sex writer, and professional transsexual. His work focuses on dismantling shame and queering sex.