Fuck me with words and make me work for your cock

One person lies naked with their cock hard, and another is curled into them and gripping the base of their partner's cock. Photo.
Photo by Mx Nillin, used with permission.

I feel like I’ve been really personal with the most recent handful of filth I’ve shared: I’m not only writing about things that I find desperately hot, but about what I’m desperate for my play partners to do to me right now. This week’s intimate craving is very specific, and I hope I’ve captured how tense my body is with hunger right now. A hunger for you to fuck me with your words and make me work for your cock.

I want you to fuck my throat, but I need more than that right now. Yes, there are times when you using my mouth is the hottest thing ever, and all I want you to do is to ignore my bratty protests and needy squirming and just force me to do as I’m told. I love struggling against you and feeling you overpowering me – but that’s not what I want right now.

Don’t just order me, and use your hands on my shoulders to ensure I obey. Don’t just curl a hand in my hair so you can control the depth and speed of every thrust into my hot, wet mouth. Of course I want to splutter and gag and for you to push me further than I think I can take – I always want that. But today I want to play a different, darker game. I want something crueller with a delicious edge. I want you to fuck me with your words until I can think of nothing but choking on your cock, and then make me work for it.

Yes: make me crave your cock, and then make me do twisted, depraved things to earn it.

Mind fuck me, exploiting my greatest weakness – namely that I am such a slut for words. Especially your words, spoken in your fucking voice that does obscene things to me even when you’re not trying to. I want you to use your words like a weapon, tearing me apart and leaving me completely at your mercy. Make me shiver with lust and my cunt clench and build me up until my skin is burning with need.

Make me work for it; make me wait for it.  and refuse to touch me. Hold any form of release tantalisingly out of reach. When you finally give in and pinch my inner thigh or scrap your nails across the skin at the base of my spine, it will feel like you are connecting a circuit and your touch is electric. You don’t need to hurt me – or at least you don’t need to try hard to hurt me: as little as a firm, decisive touch, dancing the line between give-me-more and fuck-too-much will be torturous.

You can reduce me to a whimpering mess with a few well placed words, your voice casual, indifferent, taunting. Show off how well you know my body and use that knowledge against me. Tease me. Fake innocence when I twist into you, greedy for more of your touch. Ask, with incredulity not coming close to hiding your grin, if I’m getting wet. Your words can fuck me just as well as your tongue or cock can, albeit in a very different way. Play with my mind until I am aching for you to play with my body, and don’t hold back.

Please, please don’t hold back. Make me blush with shame and make me wet with arousal, and tweak my nipples so gently that I might cry. I want your words more than anything else right now, and I want you to use them to make me want everything and anything else you can dish out. Push me to my trembling limits. Put your hand on my neck, so all I can think about is you increasing the pressure there until I’m forced to drop to my knees. Make me beg you to fuck my throat, because your words have consume. Then tell me what disgusting things I need to do before you’ll let me suck you off.

I want you to make me work for it.

 

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