Trituration

Knees up, thighs splayed wide, my slippery wet is overriding my fingers’ desperate attempts to unhood my clit.

He is between my knees, kneeling, pushing his ringed hardness (Where are your cock rings? I’d asked; he knew I was not asking a question but stating an expectation) into me, the sensitivity of his swell against my slick making him groan.

But I am groaning for another reason:  I’m frustrated.

While the current excess lubrication is a comfortable counterpoint to those times when my biology must be circumnavigated if I’m to reach completion, this juicy squelching glide is not at all what I’m used to, and no matter how tight I clench against his cock, I cannot gain the purchase I seek.

I need…

Traction.

Resistance.

I need the drag of flesh over tender folds, the gentle abrasion of barely-damp against swollen bud.

I need friction, inside and out.

The only way I’m going to be able to orchestrate my orgasm is if I get what I need.

And the only way I’m going to get what I need is if I tell him what I need, so we can work together to make it happen.

♦

Prepotency

When it comes {heh} to my own body, there are times (1) when I’m on a plateau of pleasure and am happy to just ride it out, seeing where it takes us both; and there are other times (2) when I know exactly what I need, and if you happen to be the one having sex with me when I need it – whatever ‘it’ may be at the time; it varies – you are going to know exactly what I need as well.

Because I’m going to tell you.

And you are going to give it to me.

Tout suite.

I know how I like to fuck, and I know what I need to cum.

Communicating what I like and need – to fuck, to cum, during sexual interaction – has always come naturally to me.  I know what I want, and I have no qualms about communicating those wants.

I wonder, sometimes, if this is an element common to F/m sexual interaction.

Or is it an oddity unique to my situation?

♦

Motionlessness

Balanced on the insides of my wide-set knees, I press my toes against the mattress and push my hips farther apart, lowering my shoulders and arching my back as he fucks into me from behind, with furious hard-thrust strokes.

I am meeting every forward push of his hips with a backward press of my own, rocking my ass up against his abdomen and squeezing the shaft of his cock tight between my still-fluttering muscles (that first orgasm was good… so good) with every punch-kiss of his head against my cervix.

It is not so much a volley as a clap, our rapid-slap applause filling the room alongside pants and moans.

Our sex is aggressive and playful and bruising and oh fuck I’m almost there, which means I need something very different from the brutal pace we’ve continually kept upping, and I need that ‘something different’ right NOW.

I need his fingers gripping my hips, I need his cock pushed hard and tight as far inside me as he can go.

I need – after that, from him – absolute stillness in this position, so I can grip him tight and work my muscles around his shaft to milk my own climax from his cock.

And I need it immediately if I’m going to cum.

(Of course I’m going to cum.)  (Again.)  (Not cumming is not an option.)

Which means I have to tell him what I need, so that together we can get me there.

♦

Suzerain

Again:  I know how I like to fuck, and I know what I need to cum.

I don’t think I’m alone in that, but often when I’m reading other women’s experiences of sex, I’ve had the thought that my brook-no-argument attitude in communicating those things – or at least the results therefrom – might be a little outside the norm.

If I am providing pleasure – using hands, mouth, toys, restraints, or any creative combination thereof – I tend to be hyperfocused on my partner/s.  But I think (and behave) differently when it comes {heh} to coitus.

What it boils down to is this:  If I am allowing you inside my body, the primary pleasure focus is on ME.

Often the end-goal focus of intercourse for men, especially in traditional relationships, is orgasm.

But my relationships are not traditional.  And if you are a man who is fucking me, then the end-goal focus is MY orgasm.  And I’m going to tell you how to get me there.

Sometimes that means – as happened in the first scenario above – that I’m going to sharpen my voice and tell you what to do (possibly after slapping your shoulder and admonishing you to “stop stopping and FUCK ME!”), including how to change your stance/motion/speed; other times – as was the case in scenario number two – I’ll be panting a half-dehydrated plea, complete with hands out in a ‘stop’ sign, to hold up a minute, then “PUSH…  Now stay. right. there.”

♦

Cogitation

The idea of not being boss in bed is something that’s never really occurred to me.

I simply communicate in a manner that brooks no argument.

And not communicating is not an option.

I will never understand the concept of keeping mum, of going along, of doing something unenjoyable for the sake of someone else’s orgasm.  (Intellectually, I get it, yes.  I can wrap my brain around the hows and the whys, and I understand that this is a ‘typical’ experience for het women.  But I can’t put myself in those shoes; I cannot empathize.)  Because I’m not built that way.

Perhaps it has to do with the generosity of my lovers.  Possibly it has to do with the power dynamics of my relationships. Probably it has to do with the fact that I am direct about my expectations when it comes to sex…

But it is a rare thing for me to not get what I want.

And that, among women, seems to be a rare thing.

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What are your experiences with communicating your needs during sex?

Do you get what you want in bed?