sins of the flesh

I forgot what it felt like to have a man inside my body who not only fits but who has stretched you to the point of knowing that you have truly been filled to your limit; a man who has a thick cock that weighs substantively. It’s actually heavy when lifting it in hand and its dense topography of ropy vein’s  make looking at his engorged shaft a study of concentration. It is completed by a large fleshy circumcised head with a deep and defined ridge. Even when he is tumescent, his cock lays heavily against his leg in a promise of what his potential is. When erect it is straight with a pleasing 60 degree angle and its overall shape is uniform from base to head. He truly does have a beautiful cock.

I keep thinking to myself that he is the most fortunate of men, being both a shower AND a grower. Not many men are so thickly endowed also have a good 5 inches soft and then grow to a rock hard 9 inches once aroused. He keeps his groin shaved so that you can see every millimeter clearly and there is no mistaking his size. He has no need to hide behind towels in the locker room. Walking bare assed and without a care in the world as to who sees his swinging cock is a source of pride for him.

I think he likes showing it off to other men, knowing they all look and compare, even if it’s done discreetly. You can’t help but look because he is simply well endowed and it draws your eye. Plus he has a heavy ball sack that matches his package perfectly. He loves tugging and playing with it. Stretching the smooth skin and lifting his testicles high towards his body. It’s quite distracting to me when I see it and it makes me want my hands replacing his.

He has the biggest hands and fingers of any man, I have ever seen, though he says his fathers are bigger. His palms are wide and his fingers are thick. They are powerful looking hands and seeing them on his cock as he slowly strokes it, excites me. I know exactly how good those hands feel on my skin. He massages me like a registered massage therapist would when giving a deep tissue massage. Relaxing to the point of becoming partially fluid is an apt description of how he makes me feel when he is manipulating me.

He loves to touch me. His hands never leave my skin as they trace my contours and curves or pass over my long unruly hair. He touches me with all of the passion of a man who had been denied the simple pleasure of touch for most of his adult life. He hungers for it and as a result, for me because of my vocal and physical response to him.

I arch into his hands, much like a cat trying to rub my entire body onto him. I know that no one will ever massaged me like this again, with absolute enjoyment and delight and I will always remember him for this single and astounding ability he has to draw myself outwards and into his hands like a master sculptor. I did not know how tense I was or how sore, until he starts pulling my muscles apart and following the shape of the bones deep under my skin. I don’t know how I endured living without this type of touch for so long and I know I shall miss this aspect of our relationship horribly when this ends one day.

He always licks me before he enters me. Despite the size of his cock, his sexual identity is that of a sexual servant. He does not seek or even want cock worship nor is his personal satisfaction ever even considered. He wants to be between your thighs licking you and pleasing you. He wants to be smothered by sitting on his face with my wide ass in his hands and having a hairy pussy grind itself to orgasm on his mouth and tongue. He wants to smell my sex and arousal. He needs to work for the pleasure of pleasing me. This is what excites him.

He loves that I am demanding but wants me to be more so. The problem between us, is that as I become aroused I lose myself to the pleasure and I naturally retreat into my sexual identity of being more submissive to a mans touch. This is the exact opposite of what truly excites him, which is my dominant side. When he holds the back of my head, slightly pulling my hair in the wide splay of his fingers and kisses me hard, he feels my body give way to his lust, as subtle as hearing the groaning of ice, just before the harsh melting leads to its explosive eruption as it breaks into fragments, cascading into the ocean.

I love how long his thrusts are. How slowly he uses every inch of his cock to massage the inside of me as completely as he did the outside of my body when he used his hands. He has to start slowly so I can accommodate him. When I demand more and he thrusts harder, there is always some point where he stops and asks if I am okay or if he is being too rough. It’s all I can do to cry out that it is “Perfect” and “Don’t stop!” with breath that’s broken and panting. I can barely think when he used his cock like a breeding bull.

He loves to watch my face as he is fucking me. He takes in every detail and it makes him smile and comment on every little change that he sees cross my countenance. Every time he thrusts and grinds into me and my response changes, I think he takes it as a source of pride that he using his cock to please me well and good. I encourage him to be selfish with me. I want him to use my body to discover the pleasures of his own. I have to direct him to change positions so he can think about his own body instead of mine.

His erection lasts until I am done with it. His stamina is absolute and aided by an inability to orgasm through intercourse. He loves kissing me as I climax so my cries are muffled against his lips so he can taste them, even as my body clenches and throbs over his hardness. He strokes my hair and my back, calming me down, whispering words of comfort as he is holding me and pampering me until my breathing becomes normal. His every movement is purposefully done to make sure I am satisfied and satiated. He gives me complete supplication in every interaction.

It’s quite different, being placed on a pedestal and then attended to with deference. Part of me wishes I were selfish enough to actually demand I am treated this way on a regular basis because it is definitely heady, being the sole focus of someone’s sexual adoration. But that will never happen as I am the complete opposite of who he wants me to be for him, even though it’s a role I thoroughly enjoy.

In my heart of hearts, I simply love being able to be the vessel for a mans passion and lust. I love being his, the receptacle for his cum and his attention. I love being able to worship at the junction of his thighs and anticipate his needs to make his life easier and happier. I am submissive only in that I love giving more than i ever have taking but i demand my needs are met with as much passion for giving as I have. Because it’s THAT battle which is the holy grail of my sexuality.

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5 Responses to sins of the flesh

  1. shalynne says:

    Man alive! What a beautifully written tribute to your man’s cock. I’m with you; I love being the receptacle of a hard man’s affections, too. I am going to reblog this post on indiscretionsblog.com. Thanks for sharing with the rest of us. Cheers.

  2. shalynne says:

    Reblogged this on Indiscretions and commented:
    I had to share this beautifully written tribute to a man’s cock. Thank you, rougedmount, for sharing.

  3. Sounds like he makes sinning worthwhile…

    • rougedmount says:

      the simple truth is that I can use his cock to make myself easily orgasm via my preferred method of penetration, he massages me like I am Olympic athlete and he is responsible for keeping me supple and limber and he kisses me exactly how I enjoy it. he sucks at communication…but when I am using his cock for my sexual gratification…it works well to ease my sexual frustrations

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