Punishment fucking: fuck me like I’m in trouble

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The best thing about getting fucked like you’re in trouble is that to get out of trouble, you have to do exactly what you’re told. Here’s a story about punishment fucking, written when I was incredibly horny for exactly this kind of fuck… All sex bloggers presumably know the feeling – you sit down at your laptop to write, and immediately start growing aroused. The story you have in your mind can sometimes be enhanced by this – the thudding of your heart, and your clit, brings back physical memories. Or it might mean that you’re so distracted you have to take a short break to get calm before you write. Last week I wrote two hot stories about mirror-fucking . One was composed when I was painfully and dangerously horny, sitting hungover on the sofa and desperate for a wank. The other was written afterwards, when I’d frotted myself to completion and generally calmed down. Based on votes in the comments on the blog, the first story won by a narrow margin of one vote. I’ll tell you which was which at the end of this post, after a quick hot story interlude, which you shouldn’t read if you’re at work… Punishment fucking It’s right up there with “I want to suck you dry” or “make me do bad things” – the vague, half-mumbled statements I use when I want a feeling rather than a specific act. The hotness I’m craving comes from what you really want to do, deep down, so I don’t want to give explicit instruction: touch me here, pinch this, lick that, hit me. So, right up there with those two phrases comes one of my favourites: “Fuck me like I’m in trouble.” I came in quite late and collapsed on the sofa. There’s porn on the telly and he’s distant. Detached, pissed off, tired. He loves me deep down but right now that’s irrelevant. He strides over to where I’m sitting, dick thickly squashed against the crotch of his trousers. He kisses me briskly. “Dirty.” “Me?” “You.” He storms into the bedroom and I follow him. I’d like to say nervous – I’d like to tell you that this fuck was hot because I was just a tiny bit scared. But I wasn’t scared, because both of us knew exactly what I wanted. “Strip.” I stripped. “Suck me.” I did. “Bend over.” Ditto. The best thing about being fucked like you’re in trouble is that to get out of trouble you have to do as you’re fucking told. No thinking, no speaking, just total acquiescence to instructions, leaving my brain free to focus on all the things I was desperate for – the smack of his hand on the inside of my thighs, the rough grip as he grabbed my hips too tightly. The sound of his appreciative moan as he spread open my cunt. His dick hurts. Not always – most of the time it fits perfectly, stretching me into just the right taut comfort, so I can feel the whole length and width of it as I squeeze myself around him. But in the right position, and at the right time, when he’s angry and hot and so so hard and fucking me with the rhythm of a quick punishment: it hurts. I like that it hurts, it fits the atmosphere. Fuck me like I’m in trouble. After a few minutes, I’m moaning – almost whining with the pain of it. I want it to stop, and then it stops and I want it to start again. I’m stuffing the duvet in my mouth to keep from waking the neighbours and pushing my hips back onto his dick to get more of him: more pain, more rage, more fuck, more trouble until he builds to a shuddering end – the head of his dick pulsing against me, and liquid spunk trickling slickly down my arse and the back of my thighs. I stand up, legs trembling, and he kisses me gently. My cunt is sore and I’m wet and fuck-smeared – disheveled and sheepish and weak from the effort. This time when he calls me a “good girl”, I feel like I’ve really earned it. Best sex writing – horny or not horny? So… is sex writing better when you’re horny ? The votes have been counted, and the results of my not-in-any-way-scientific experiment are in: it didn’t make much frigging difference. The pre-wank story (“I can see you”) won by a total of one vote: 14 to the other story’s 13. The other story (“You can see me”) was written after I’d had a wank and calmed down. Although remembering the detail was hot, the second wasn’t written with the urgent need to come that had clouded the first. That there wasn’t much difference between the two is comforting, as – given that I can’t do all of my writing when I’m writhing with lust – I sometimes worry it’s obvious when my heart (or rather my cunt ) isn’t really in it. Anyway, to celebrate, the punishment fucking story above was written pre-wank, when I was really horny – because this was the winner of the sex writing test, albeit by a tiny margin. Roughly translated, this means I waited to write the story until just the right moment when my blood was up and I could think only of punishment fucking. I think you all know what I’m off to do now.