You’ve met this guy before. Possibly the most casual man I’ve ever fucked. Chill. Direct. Horny. Extremely forgiving of the fact that I disappeared for eighteen months into monogamy. The kind of dude who’s happy to pop back when required to deliver great dick without drama. Breaking the seal, if you will. We’re catching up over email and I tell him I’m single now. That I may be emotionally battered but I’ve gained a wicked new story. I don’t outright say that I’d love to get fucked, but he picks up the hint regardless: “Would you like to tell me the wicked story over a pint, then have a ride on my dick?” Fuck yes.
CN: light kink, slapping.
We drink a couple of pints and swap updates. His are far filthier than mine – one of the things I enjoy about his company is his huge (and ever-growing) repertoire of creatively horny tales. I’ve not got much to swap right now, so instead I tell him my gang bang ideas (for which he would, of course, be on the guest list) and we discuss options for tone and scene and participants. Foreplay through mutual fantasy, casual enough that no one on neighbouring tables is ever disturbed.
It feels polite to let him know that this will be my first shag since the split. And it feels horny to explain that my usual request – give me that first stroke really fucking slowly – is even more important this time round. The longer it’s been since you last felt a warm, hard cock inside you, the better that first stroke feels in my opinion. I might have used the phrase ‘breaking the seal’ but hotter ones are available: splitting me open, filling me up, stretching me out with firm, deliberate restraint…
“Challenge accepted,” he tells me with cheer, as I drain the last dregs of my pint.
Back at mine, we have the exact sex I’d hoped for: chill, playful, flirty. I suck his dick for a while, because he knows I fucking love that, and I scroll back through memories to the night he first taught me how to suck him off best. I don’t remember everything straight away, but I’m ecstatic at the chance to have a play. Just toying with him to get back into the zone, safe in the knowledge that he’s good at expressing his needs. We chat a little while we’re doing it: I compliment him on how hard he’s getting, he gives me kudos for a bedroom mirror positioned so well he can almost see up my cunt.
When we fuck, I take his cock ohhhsofucking slowly. I savour every precious, rock-solid inch of it. I imagine he can tell how grateful I am by the way I clench my cunt around him over and over and over, squeezing him with hunger that borders on greed.
I’ve missed this sensation so much.
It doesn’t take me long to come when I’m riding him, so when I do it almost feels involuntary. I pushed myself here on purpose, riding him at a speed and angle that I knew would get me off, yet still when my orgasm comes, it takes me by surprise. I’d expected to find it more difficult – lack of practice, you know? I thought I’d need more time to switch back to old habits, adjust to the novel shape of a casual fuck.
We swap round: his turn to fuck me. And I come pretty quickly then too. A sudden click in my brain – oh fuck yeah let’s go – then I feel myself spasm around him once more as he shoves himself firmly inside.
He likes the cunt spasms, this guy – who doesn’t? It’s one of the things I wish I could experience for myself. I’ve given prostate massages and felt someone come round my fingers, but there has to be something pretty special about the sensation of someone’s cunt or ass twitching round the meat of your dick.
This guy knows I am kinky, and we’ve had discussions about the kind of kink that turns me on. Slapping, humiliation, degradation, being used. I may even have told him once about the ex boyfriend who joked that one of my sex requests had basically become my new catchphrase: choke me and my cunt gets tighter. Believe it or not, this paragraph isn’t just a horny detour, it also functions as due diligence: I’m letting you all know that what’s about to happen is consensual, pleasurable and deeply, eagerly missed.
He slaps me in the face.
Unngh.
To those of you who aren’t into BDSM, a face-slap during sex might seem shocking. I know that even some of my fuckier pals draw the line at this kind of contact. But to me, a sub-leaning woman who’s spent the last eighteen months not being slapped or belted or otherwise knocked about for hot kicks, that smack lands so perfectly it makes my cunt twitch again.
“Yesssss,” I probably say, and he does it again – the other cheek, to keep things even. Each time he slaps me I tense up, so a half-second after his palm meets my face, his dick will be gripped with more power.
Slap me and my cunt gets tighter.
Another smack. Then another.
He fucks me hard and fast now, like he really wants to come, and I feel deliciously deviant for entertaining a secret hope that the closer he gets to coming… the harder it is for him to tip over the edge… the harder the open-palm smacks he’ll rain down on my face. It’s been so long since I got whacked during sex that I almost feel ashamed of how much I want it. The pain, for sure, that delicious hot sting that lingers, burning my face as I moan and urge him onwards. But more than the pain it’s the vibe. He tells me he can feel me getting tighter round his dick, and that presses buttons in a part of my brain that loves getting bent over for brutal, quick relief, or used like I’m merely a Fleshlight.
I will hurt you because it makes my cock feel good.
Yes.
Taking the first stroke slowly helped to break the seal on fucking, and in a similar way his swift, harsh slap woke me back up into kink.
While messaging beforehand, I’d warned this casual, fucky guy that I might be rusty. I was worried he might be disappointed to find me awkward and fumbling as I struggled to get back into the swing of things – like meeting up with an old running buddy only to find they are out of practice and can no longer keep up. But sex isn’t competitive, it’s collaborative. And luckily I chose to break the seal with a very competent partner, one who could treat everything as low-stakes and no-drama, and use his experience to nudge me in directions that I might not otherwise have thought to directly request.
When we arranged to meet, I hadn’t expected more from him than a straightforward pint/shag/orgasm. But I went to bed that night with fantasies about being beaten and used, and woke up the next morning with a souvenir of that day: a subtle red mark on the side of my face. It pairs well with a satisfied grin.