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It’s so now to be sexually domineering, for the woman to be the one who calls the shots. Lately, Rihanna’s making quite a name for herself as the feisty, little firecracker at the centre of everyone’s fantasies and if she’s as good as her word, I for one wouldn’t kick her out of bed for dripping candle wax on the Egyptian cotton sheets. Alas, we don’t really move in the same circles just yet, so I have to find my thrills closer to home, although not everyone’s that handy with a whip…
Ordinary sex is a pretty common scenario – not quite enough confidence or alcohol so your sexual encounter lacks the grit to be taken to a level of complete breathlessness and muscle cramps. But I’ve devised a simple yet novel way to turn up the heat and fast. Never underestimate the power of jealousy.
So, I’m having the kind of routine sex that fills a Sunday afternoon, but will probably be forgotten by Monday morning. I’m on my back, he’s kneeling between my legs and his cock isn’t nearly as hard as it could be. There’s no urgency in his thrusts, it’s lazy and dull. Cue my mobile phone which lies in wait on the bedside table. I’m being f***ed so gently that it’s not even difficult to lean over and pick it up. In my inbox is a text from another man. It’s filthy. I pass the phone to the man in front of me. I watch his eyes absorb the words like sweet poison. Instantly his cock hardens and lengthens, he starts f***ing me harder and faster, his eyes fierce with a new intensity.
With one hand he scrolls through my messages, reading more; with the other he holds my neck to the bed, almost so I can’t breathe. After filling his mind with enough fuel to necessitate pure, unadulterated one-upmanship and rage, he discards the phone and flips me onto all fours, f***ing me to within an inch of my life. He forces me right down so I’m lying flat, his hand is clenched around a fistful of my hair, forcing my face into the pillow; while his hips press me hard onto the bed, allowing my clit to intermittently graze the sheets and my thighs to tighten the grip on his imminently explosive cock.
To this day I don’t think he knows I never f***ed the guy on the phone. Who says men don’t get off on mind games?
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