i am so thankful i was born a heterosexual woman. that can i orgasm deep inside my body so that my organs can feel the vibrations and surging waves of pleasure. i can feel my uterus contract. a deep twisting and throbbing which anchors to my spine before climbing upwards and outwards; sending sparks of electricity through my body, making my blood simmer then boil.
my body was formed of molten sensations, liquid bones and silken skin. i am sensitized to respond instantly and with acute awareness to the very thing that is completely different than who and what I am. The stark contrast of masculine and feminine is what arouses me. The simple beauty of a male form makes all that is female inside of me awaken with heat and hard yearnings.
i see his long muscles, his shaped and broad shoulders, i see the scruff of beard over face and neck and something inside of me clenches, tightens. it’s the tone of voice, the deeper scent, the narrow waist and hips. it’s the pattern of fur between his belly button and groin which makes my heart skip as i sigh with heaving breasts encouraging the movement of hardened nipples against the material of my bra.
be he at rest or hard with arousal, his cock, his manhood, his engorged or flaccid flesh is my weakness, my downfall, my inspiration. it makes me needful and wanting. it makes me want to succumb to his lust and to make him force me. i want to use his body to make my own sing with the songs of women looking to be bred and procreate. i want all that is his and make it my own.
his semen is mine because i want it and will take it at will. simply by spilling words or erotica down his chest and stomach and using my skills to arouse his flesh, i will fill and empty his bag until he fails to perform. and then i’ll do it to the man beside him so all he sees and hears is the demanding lustful conquering of a woman taking her pound of flesh, until it stands his own cock once again.
i love his body. any mans. it’s perfect. there is nothing i would not do, to please him by using him to pleasure myself. inhaling the scent of his musked arousal, smelling the damp sweat of his exertions and listening to his bellowed grunts as he thrusts salted spunk from his body in exhilaration and at my command, is why i was born as i was.