I couldn’t not join in with Kink of the Week, because the photo accompanying , proudly displaying my first ever love bite. I wrote a little about the adventure that earned me the mark when I initially posted the photo, so today’s post is purely fictional filth. It’s also though – because it’s me, and I can’t help but subvert Molly’s carefully curated memes – about power dynamics and blow jobs.
My favourite thing about a truly sadistic dominant is their ability to surprise me. I can walk into a room thinking that the cruelty they wield so well will be in the force of their cock thrusting into my mouth as they throat-fuck me, hard and ruthless and barely giving me time to breathe. That cruelty is hot because they will overpower me and push me to the edge of the what I can take as they use my body. When I’m choking on their cock, drool running down my cheek and their hands in my hair, it doesn’t at all predictable.
But there is something delightfully sadistic about pretending that you’re going to destroy me by fucking my face until my cheeks are covered in come and spit and tears – and then denying me that ruination.
All I want right now is his cock in my mouth, which is exactly why he won’t give it to me. I beg and plead and know his evil grin is growing as I get more and more desperate for it. He holds me tight against his body, my back to his chest, one of his arms around my neck and the other pinning my hips in place. The second arm is, of course, perfectly placed so he can roughly grab or spank my cunt while I squeal and try to twist around and bury my face in his shoulder.
It’s not that he doesn’t want me to suck his – he absolutely does. His cock is hard and I’m pretty sure he’s been thinking about it ever since he sent me that text earlier – the one that made me stick my hand down my knickers and come dangerously close to coming. (“For the record, I don’t pull any punches with my throat-fucking.”) If I squirm, I can rub my cunt against his cock. It feels so good, to lie here in his arms and be tortured by the so-near-yet-so-far closeness of the eager dick between his legs.
He knows that, of course, and he teases me about how well he knows my body – how well he can play it and use it and make me give over to him within seconds. I struggle to pull away from him, and his strong arms pull me tighter. I can feel the blood pumping in my cunt and my poor throbbing clit, so hungry to be touched and so blatantly ignored.
It’s ridiculously hot when he fucks my mouth as though it’s his God-given right. It’s achingly, unfairly hot when he teases me about how much I want it without giving it to me – but even as I’m lying there on top of him I think he’ll eventually give in and let me taste him. The reason he’s denying me now is so I work harder when I do get down on my knees for him, and so he can taunt me with the fact that every time I gag on his thick hard cock he is giving me exactly what I begged for.
I tell him this. He laughs.
“Do you really think I’m so predictable, little slut?”
I hate how his cocky smirk makes my cunt wet.
“Bite me,” I say, and he does. For a second, I can forget about my need to have my mouth filled with dick as he uses that delicious trick of twisting my body so it’s uncomfortable in a way that’s arousing rather than painful so he can sink his teeth into my neck. It hurts, with an ache that dances the line between pain I love and pain I hate.
He doesn’t stop at one love bite, of course, that would be too much like letting me win. And in this game, this glorious twisted game we play, he always comes out on top. I begged to suck his dick and he denied me; I sarcastically said he could bite me and the arrogant fucker takes it as an invitation. He bites me again and again, soon changing positions so I’m held captive under him while he attacks every bit of my neck and upper chest with his teeth and tongue. I ask him to stop, I beg him to stop, but he carries on and pulls me further down the path where I can’t tell the difference between pain and pleasure and I only want more.
Eventually, he doesn’t have to pin me down anymore: I’ve stopped thrashing and surrendered to him, and in return he has started talking. He reminds me that I’m his, to play with and mark as he wishes. He tells me that every single love bite should act as a reminder that I am allowed to pleasure him only at his discretion. If I think he is getting predictable, he warns me, switching things up and tugging on my nipple with his teeth, I will be proved wrong and given something to remember my foolishness with.
And when he’s done? When he sits back, satisfied with how he’s marked my body and his dick still hard? Then he gives me the throat-fucking I was longing for earlier, straddling my chest so I have no choice but to take it and delighting in how I whimper around his cock when he cruelly presses down on the bruises he’s given me.
The love bites last a long time, but the memory of that fuck lasts longer.
Kink of the Week is run by the wonderful Molly Moore, and you should click the kiss to see who else is getting their kink on.
If you want to support my work – so I can spend more time writing filth and creating audio porn – please consider buying me a coffee on Ko-fi.
Quinn Rhodes (he/him) is a freelance journalist, sex writer, and professional transsexual. His work focuses on dismantling shame and queering sex.