My sex is raw, visceral. It’s primal lust and base desire. It’s dilated pupils and heavy breathing. It’s the smell of sweat and arousal. It’s the scruff of facial hair chafing at my neck. It’s physical attraction, touching, caressing. It’s light nibbles and little bites and deep kisses. My sex is fun and passionate. It’s mostly pleasure with a touch of pain. It’s deep thrusting and gushing fluid.
I love the smell of myself on my husband’s face after he’s eaten my pussy. I love the smell of the sweat between his legs as I suck his cock. I love the taste of him in my mouth. The sweat dripping off his face onto my breasts, the slapping of our skin. I love the guttural moans and squeals of delight. I love the release of all the pent up thrusting. I love the smell that lingers in our room after we’ve finished having sex.
Sometimes I even love anal. After I’ve orgasmed a few times, he can gently ease it into my ass without lube and it feels so fucking good. I can cum just from anal stimulation alone. It’s intense and wonderful.
Doesn’t everyone feel like this?
When my husband is caressing my body, it feels sublime. I can feel his love in every touch. He rubs my bum, my child-bearing hips (complete with stretch marks), my soft tummy, my oversized breasts. He loves every part of me, and I love every part of him. Couple that with the animalistic side of sex and it makes my loins quiver.
Forceful need. I love that feeling of needing him inside me so badly that I ache. When that need is sated as he thrusts into me. Power fucking.
La petite mort.
I’m pretty sure that orgasming is as close to god as we can get. It’s sweet and powerful and pure energy. It brings the love of the universe into ourselves and expels it in fluids.
Raw, animalistic and visceral. That’s my sex.