Fuck me till my nose bleeds

Giới thiệu

As you can probably tell from the title, this post is going to involve blood so please do look away now if that’s not your thing. It also features a picture which, if you did not know the entirely consensual and sexy context, might be shocking. So before you click or scroll down, understand that the nosebleed is not the result of violence, and I’m only writing about it because the guy who features here managed to turn something as mundane as a nosebleed into the perfect climax to a BDSM fuck, and I thought some of you might appreciate the filth of it. Ready? OK. Sometimes the filthiest things happen because we’ve fucked three times already that night and we need something extra to take us over that fourth hurdle. We started this particular evening by playing some of our greatest hits – blow jobs , anal , DP – so by now, at 3am, other sex things seem mundane in comparison. So I go for the simple option: I ask him to fuck me as hard as he possibly can. “Fuck me like you want to hurt me with your dick,” I tell him. And he does. He makes me spread my legs and bend over his desk, turning my head to one side with my palms pressed flat against the surface. There’s porn playing on the screen, but he’s deliberately positioned me so I can’t see it – so he can focus on watching exactly what he wants, teasing me with scenes I can’t see, making me picture which filthy acts go with which of the grunts I can hear coming from the screen. Everything about this position, and this fuck, screams ‘being used’ – from the porn he’s watching while he fucks me , to the swift strokes he smacks into me, good and hard so it feels like I might just bruise inside. He wraps his belt twice around his hand, then thwacks me a few times just to warm me up – and to remind me that he can do this just because he wants to. Then he threads the belt around my waist and uses it to yank me backwards harder onto his cock. Hard enough that it makes my teeth rattle. I clench tight around him, and I close my eyes – all the better to hear his heavy breathing and the slap of his thighs against my arse as he fucks me. For a minute or two I am lost in this dreamy world of rhythmic pain and pleasure, lulled into wooziness by booze and sex and the other things I love the most. Then my nose starts to run. That’s what it feels like, at any rate. I’ve only had a nosebleed once or twice before, and this doesn’t feel anything like it – my first nosebleed came with pain, but this one just started flowing out. I lift my head from the desk, put my hand up, and in time to the rhythm with which he fucks me, I watch two thick droplets of blood splatter onto my hand. “I…” I don’t know what to say. I’m worried that if I tell him he’ll stop fucking me. And I really don’t want him to stop fucking me. It’s just a nosebleed, after all – other people have them all the time. If I paused it to get a tissue now he might switch from dominant to caring, and caring is not what I want at this moment. My cunt is aching and sore, but my legs are trembling with the need to have just one more release before I collapse, exhausted, into bed. “Get your head down,” he orders, oblivious to the trail of blood snaking down my face. He grabs my hips and starts shagging more aggressively, as if to punish me for not staying still. My cunt tightens in response and I moan again, on the edge of telling him but still not wanting it to stop. “Are you going to shut up and let me fuck you?” he growls, and I grow even woozier with lust. “I…” I’m trembling and quite close to coming… I just really really need him to keep fucking me. “Yes?” He knows me when I’m like this, and he does not stop – he keeps fucking and fucking even as my voice starts to crack. “I think I’ve got a nosebleed.” By this point ‘I think’ is irrelevant – there’s a dark stream of blood running from my nose, over my panting lips and down to my chin. The hand I lifted up to check whether there was blood is smeared – dark red and shining slickly. He grabs hold of my hair, twists my head round so he can inspect me. He pulls me back towards him with a fierce grip that I couldn’t escape from if I tried, then drawls: “Ohhhh, you’re a fucking mess.” I cannot stop myself from grinning. Yes. Oh fuck yes I’m a fucking mess. Make me even messier you filthy, beautiful man. Because if you can deal with the fact I’m getting off on this then there is nothing we can’t do together. He reads my mind – or more likely, my grin – and yanks again on my hair, twisting me to just the right angle so he can take in every detail of the bloody ruin of my face. “You’re a dirty fucking slut,” he says, and I twist to pull against his grip so the sting of his words will be matched by a sharp jolt of pain – just enough to push me over the edge. I come to the sound of him calling me a slut, and the taste of blood on my tongue.