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Three months ago, this girl was an avid political girl. She liked watching movies, cuddling, romance. A normal, healthy, suburban girl; a family person through and through.

I met her in the cinemas alone. When I asked her out, she agreed. We went out the next day and as I leaned towards her at the end of the night, she pushed me back and told me she didn’t really kiss on the first date.

Obviously, we fucked on her apartment that night.

She wasn’t lying, though. We made do without the kissing part. For a week at least. I offered to be fuck-buddies, and she agreed.

Eight days later, while she begged to cum around my cock for the nth time, eyes tearing up from the teasingly slow pace, I kissed her for the first time. As if she was waiting for it, she swiftly reciprocated. From then on, we were official. Two weeks after that initial fuck, she started paying less attention to politics. Not enough time to do so. With our relationship and all. I take her on dates, keep her happy. Make her addicted to me. We drink alcohol, and pound each other like rabbits. Fuck harder and rougher with each time.

After a month, we stopped watching movies and cuddling.

Another week, she stopped going home to her parents. Instead, we’d look for rough porn and try that shit out.

A week later, we tried fucking while high on coke. She kept cumming constantly. So, saying she enjoyed that was definitely an understatement. The next following days, I denied her any sort of release. We spent entire days having sex and I wouldn’t let her cum. Obviously, she was pent up. I told her she was being clingy in response. Women tend to back away after that, with little to no exception. They keep themselves in check way more than men because society made them believe they were the more emotional gender. And that emotions were bothersome. So you could see why being “clingy” is one of their worst fears in a relationship.

I told her to go home for a bit. The look on her unsatisfied Ankara Ucuz Rus Escort face was fucking hilarious, but I acted as if I didn’t know what I was doing to her.

“Don’t you miss your sisters and parents?”

She shut up after that and left the next morning.

You know what’s great with normal, suburban family girls? They’re susceptible to anything. Sexually. Emotionally. Mentally.

They’re essentially blank slates. Slowly, you can rewrite them to your whims.

It didn’t even take two days for her to get sick of the old familial love and respect that was previously enough to sustain her all those years ago because she was back in my house and practically begging to suck my dick. I fucked her face as she squirted all over the floor. That’s when I knew she had the capacity for everything I ever wanted in life. I vowed to completely own her the moment she bucked wildly as I came inside her throat. The plan was set in motion the next morning.

I told her I recently developed an interest in extreme choking, slapping and degradation. She was scared, obviously. Rightfully so, but I convince her that there’s nothing to be afraid of. I’ll stop whenever she wanted after all. She reluctantly agreed.

After that, it was a game of subtlety. I slowly fucked her into submission. I need her compliant and edged for what’s about to come next. In this case–her.

I slapped and choked her hard as I felt her cumming on my cock.

After that week, I constantly blurred the lines of rough, pleasurable sex and pain. Slowly, I taught her how good rough, degrading sex should feel. To give off the illusion that she was completely in control, I even gave her a safe-word. Of course, I needed her to hate it.

So whenever she used it, I put a full stop on sexual initiation for a few days. I don’t touch, fuck, or kiss her so as to make her brain correlate sexual frustration with Yenimahalle Rus Escort the safe-word. Make her feel a little insecure too. Talk to obviously slutty girls in amazing shape who can take whatever I give them. I had no interest in them, of course, but just looking was enough to get my girl jealous. That shit is funny. It probably didn’t help that she knew I could get most girls if I wanted to. And that my exes kept in touch with me, whom she insulted with every mention.

They may not want to admit it, but women were born and raised to compete with other women. That’s the simple truth. That’s why they compare themselves to other women, and that’s why they like running them down. It makes them feel good.

Women were twisted creatures in that sense. But it was a trait easily taken advantage of.

My girl compared herself to every girl I talked to.

Over time, she learned to abhor using safe-words because it meant a week of uneasiness and crippling jealousy. She gradually used it less and less often.

Until one day, she just didn’t. Even if I made sure it hurt and burned, she chose not to say it.

She endured. And I rewarded it.

That would’ve been a good place to stop, but my adorable fuck-toy of a girlfriend was sturdier than you’d think. I knew for sure she could fall in even higher heights completely intact. She wasn’t easily broken like other women.

After a hot, sweaty, flirty conversation with this blonde girl who was getting her dirty hands all over my arms and chest in the gym, my little suburban toy decided she has had enough and stepped up her game; she offered me her anal virginity, raising her ass up in all fours in the middle of the hallway. Fucked her as I walked across the hall and into the bedroom. Slowly, I taught her how to tie her sense of self-worth based on how much she could please me. I taught her how to use that fear and anxiety for even more pleasure. People learn, especially when they want to. Give them enough bliss to sustain what they don’t like about a relationship, and they usually wouldn’t leave.

Some may say my type of love isn’t love at all. That it was just some form of emotional manipulation by an insecure narcissist with pathetic abandonment issues.

In many ways, they’re right. At least partly.

What’s wrong with that, though? I love her. I owe no explanation to anyone in regards to how I do that. There’s nothing wrong with taking a few extra steps to make sure they choose you over any aspect of their life, right? What would you have me do instead?

“Be myself”? That’s fucking bullshit. Love is based on perception. A man could slap you in the face and you’d pick him over someone who treated you kindly. It was a stupid game based on how you view actions and their meanings, so what’s wrong with altering that perception to begin with?

The desire for choice simply stems from the illusion of control. Give them that? They’ll shut their mouth even as you pick for them.

That wasn’t manipulation by all means. If it was, then judging by that logic, any sort of interaction would be classified as such. After all, interactions modify us unconsciously.

I just do it consciously; on purpose.

I simply demand what I want whilst offering what I can give. In the end, they’re basically the same thing. She was the one with the “choice.” My girl decides whether what I bring to her life is worth her whole life’s devotion in pleasing me.

I just helped make that choice an easy one.

And easy it was.

As I looked down on the cock-addict kneeling under me, practically abandoning most of her previous life, I smiled. There’s just something about turning beautiful, normal girls into my own personal fuck-toy. When they look at the world and decide that the best place to be is under my cock. When the only thing that goes through her pretty mind is pleasuring me. Similarly, I’ll give everything I have to my personal fuck-toy. Keeping her here, forever. By my side–as my property. Because properties don’t leave you. They get lost every now and then, but they never leave.

That’s my oath; my promise; my type of love.

The love I deserve.

The love I’ll breed inside her.

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