#comely milk maid
Little space is pure magic. Sometimes when I close my eyes I can get back there and remember how people in my past have helped me get there.
It’s a drug. Even better than sex in my eyes.
Last night CMM reminded me what it feels like for the briefest of moments. She made some dirty, dirty declarations and put me squarely in the place she knows I like to be.
I felt a distinctly painful pang before I finally gave in. It’s funny how the heart can stretch if you let it.
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… and then after kissing and light play she asked me to bite her thighs, “I want bruises, baby.”
I laid my teeth into her soft, warm flesh and bit down.
She didn’t even squeak.
I struggled as I bit harder and harder on her perfect, fragrant thighs. It immediately felt like a game of chicken….. soon I was terrified I’d draw blood. She was in control. She did not tell me to stop. I started to doubt that she would.
I finally relented before she did. She moaned and cooed and told me I was a good girl. I blushed. I wanted to do better.
Encouraged and emboldened, I sheepishly tried the other side for good measure. Again, she held out longer than I could. Her strength scared me. I felt genuine awe. I was enamored.
-Excerpt from my most recent TinyLetter. Don’t forget to subscribe: tinyletter.com/kinkycasey
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11.17.2018
Come here, honey bee, let me see you
Let me find out just how deep you go
Your legs are thrown wide but my eyes are wider
And my mouth waters
You shake
Ever so slightly
And I can see your blush
Through bush
And the tangle of lovers who never appreciated your good taste or
How good you taste
Fucking is drippy and messy
And no one goes slow like I go slow
I want you starved so I can eat my fill
My lips were made for yours
And baby I’ve had honey on my chin before
But you can fucking drown me
Viscous and swollen
There’s no sweet in the world like where we meet
And I’m wrist deep throat deep heart deep in you now
Eating my fill.
These two both grin when they fuck.
“Like the cat that caught the canary,” he once said to me.
Making love to them separately, I find traces of the other all over both of them. Like indelible fingerprints.
Together, I wonder about my signature….about the marks I’ll leave.
This morning I’m drinking from my Congratulations, Slut mug with pride.
Basking in memories of her sex fire eyes and his hands and hips guiding us through a new experience together.
“I crash into things in the dark.
Even when the lights are on.”
CMM and I had a wonderful, sweet, and super sexy date last Friday. She is giving me one long lesson in patience and it drives me up the wall (in the best way).
Her slow, methodical exploration of sensation is diametrically opposed to my impulsive, rushed, gimme-gimme, lack of control.
How can I sit still when you’re biting and licking my inner thighs? How can I not beg and whimper when your fingers lightly graze my panties over the softest, most sensitive part of my pussy?
She made me cum without removing my panties or my pretty dress.
Afterwards, eating pizza and grinning at each other, we had a deep emotional conversation. I wondered out loud why my male lovers can’t seem to go so deep so easily. “It’s not their fault,” she giggled and assured me.
I explained to her that my patronus is a bull in a China shop (she nodded, she already knew).
She listens so closely, she can read everyone, always. She can predict the future (she’s pretty sure, anyway). She keeps planes in the sky.
I wanted nothing more than to give her the calm I feel when I’m with her. To prove her wrong, again.
“But do you really know me?” I challenged. “Can you predict my future?” I’m a sweet, but stubborn, bull.
Little responds very well to those who always know where the bathroom is, and never forget the sunblock.
But what gifts can a little bull offer a China shop?
