DIRT: the grunge diaries (𝒱𝒾𝒸𝓉𝑜𝓇𝒾𝒶'𝓈 𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓈𝒾𝑜𝓃)

entry #29 - sex? confusion !

⚠️ mentions of sex and drugs ⚠️

'I really want this hard thing... inside of me'. I whine, as I wrap my legs around his lap like a vise and I tightly hold on to him. And just because I can take this dirty teasing no more, and I'm a little bit of a slut... I begin to hump his hardness like I'd love to ride him. Hard, fast, deep and steady. Sadly, there's a pair of thick denim shorts between us, and I can't feel him as much as if we were both naked. But I still love the friction feeling between my legs ... and I love to hear him growl into our kiss like he's digging my taunt, while my hands blaze up and down his naked, glistened chest, and I keep grinding against his bulge.

Fuck, he's stunning. And hard. And all mine, tonight. I still don't know if he's well hung, normally hung or poorly hung... it's real hard to tell, no pun intended, when he's still all wrapped up into his trousers.

I still haven't gotten his size figured out, but tonight I've learned something very valuable about him. He's far more sensual than I thought he was, by judging from face value. He doesn't look harmless, I still do believe he looks like he'd put drugs in your drink to get you laid, but he's surprisingly sensitive to stimulation, horny but real chill about it, very much into chasing and foreplaying, a bit forceful and very, very kind through it. Got an amazing touch too. My kinda man.

His one hand is still teasing, edging and poking my nipples, hard as stone for him. He's kissing my neck and his kisses are cascading lower and lower towards my exposed chest. When he begins to kiss my breasts, with his hand now around my waist to accompany my humping, I squirm in pleasure and beg him to fuck me under my breath, trying to sound convincing enough as I run my fingers through his sweat damp, dark brown strands.
He grins like the devil that he is at my urgency, before his face disappears between my breasts all over again. His tongue drawing deliriously pleasurable, sticky and sweet circles around my nipples. Well, when he asked me to flash the boobs at that party at Cuntrell's place, I should've given into him straight away, instead of asking him to flash his first. So that I would've felt this wave of pleasure way, way before.

I try to unbuckle his belt, and surprisingly enough, he lets me do it without applying resistance. Somehow, I also manage to undo his shorts, but he pushes my hand away when I try to lower them. And he smacks my back harder against the door, as he keeps eating my boobies out and puts me back in my place, 'cause it wouldn't be Sean otherwise. A little bit of forcefulness and back smacking n' pinning me get him going, and honestly... same. He can smack my back against the wall as many times as he wants, when he's finally inside of me. That's for sure.

I can't wait for it to happen no more. I'm fired up, stimulated, and very very horny. So is he, the only difference is that he's much more into edging, foreplaying and building tension than I am. And I love it, don't get me wrong, but I wish we were fucking already, by now. It's been a while since he first slammed me against the door, the moment we entered this room ... and we're still clad from the hips down. He isn't trying to take a look at what's happening between my legs nor trying to lower my panties. When I tried to lower his trousers, a minute ago, he didn't quite let me do the thing. But nevermind, we'll get there. At his pace, if that makes him sleep at night, but we'll get there.
That's what I think to myself, as I keep grinding myself against his hardness, while teasingly nibbling into his neck. His both hands getting a feel of my buttocks from underneath my skirt, not peeling my panties down just yet. This man ain't real, and I get my final call in that regard when he begins to sweetly kiss my head while I hump him. He's a treasure, and I'm a fucking slut. How do we settle this? À la Caballero? Hope not so.

Suddenly, I feel like everything I've been doing is plain wrong and exaggerated. All is fair in love, war and sex, I know. But we aren't lovers. We aren't even enemies. We aren't even fucking. I am pretty convinced that fucking wasn't his intention, when he lured me into this room and we got this plaything started. Maybe he just wanted to have pleasure in his terms, his terms not involving sticking the peepee into the veevee. And I can actually understand it, if it's a one time thing. This is so far the third, maybe fourth time this motherfucker gets his peepee up and keeps it in his pants instead of fucking me. He gets me wet and he either walks away with a smile, a boner and a shrug, or he behaves like he's my lover and kisses the fuck out of me while there's a riot in his pants.