Slut With A One Track Mind

I dream about sex...reach out to the person next to me and stroke his skin. Moan in my sleep as my lover trails his tongue over my hungry cunt. Wake with my hand between my thighs and a smile on my face.

I see sex...in the tight fit of a man's shirt and the bulge in his pants. In the unmade bed. In the locked bathroom during a party. Always thinking there would be a good spot, or there too.

I hear sex...in the thick growl of his voice in my ear. In the song I have cranked loud, thrusts in sync with the beat, choreographing our movements in my mind. In my own head as the dirty words corrupt my thoughts.

I taste sex...in the juice of a mango and the lick of honey off my finger. In the cream of his cum as it rolls over my tongue. In the saltiness of ocean drenched skin.

I wear sex...in the straps, and satin, and lace under my clothes. In my long hair left down and loose. In the scent that I cream into my skin and spray on my collarbone. In the sway of my hips as I walk.

I live sex...counting down the minutes until I can quench my lust. Stolen moments alone to satisfy an urge. Time to devour another completely. Souls and bodies bared for the sake of pleasure.

Sex...everywhere I go. Everything I do. All I ever want.

I'm just a slut with a one track mind. What's a girl to do.

Panties

I like them black. I like them pale pink. I like them leopard print.

Even white...in pure, plain, basic cotton...under a too short skirt. Such the good little girl. I am not.

I like them lacey. I like them flimsy. I love them sheer. Sheer and so thin that everything underneath them shows. The irony is not lost on me.

Shop for me. Walk into that store of sexy little numbers and wonder what I would look like in that. You'll know it when you see it. Trashy or pretty. Colors of your choosing. Textures that make you moan.

I enjoy being petted through them. Teased until they are soaked and I am begging. I get hot over a hand snaking down inside the front of them, even my own.

Lay me over your lap when I have been bad. Tug them down just enough to expose my ass...to your hand.

Twist your fingers into the sides and slip them down. Or defy my need and pull them up into my wetness. Delicious torture the ones that have ribbons, the slow tug of untying them causing me to grip your hair harder in my fingers.

Pull them all the way off, or leave them dangling on one ankle. Pull them to one side and fuck me that way. I especially love that...the dirtiness of needing a fuck so badly that taking them off is a second wasted.

Use them to bind my wrists together. Or use them to stifle my moans. You can even tuck them into your pocket and take them with you as a reminder. That's okay. Because not wearing panties works just fine as well.

Inopportune

He loves to torture me when it is least convenient. Sick bastard gets off on it.

He'll call me on my work phone, purposely. Not my cell phone, where I could see that it was him and ignore it. No, he's an evil asshole. He'll call me at my desk, catch me off guard. Where I have to keep the phone crooked in between my neck and shoulder as my hands multi-task to the others I am responsible for. The others that surround me, bombard me.

He'll hear the phones, he'll hear me holding two conversations, and I can almost see him grin. The busier I am the greedier he becomes with my attention. He'll start talking. Talking about how much he needs me and how he is going to have me. He'll start telling. Telling me about what he wants to do with me and how he is going to do it.

Kisses-tongues-sucking-biting-licking-wetness-fingers-spreading-gripping-fucking.

The more it becomes apparent that I can't talk back, the more inconvenient his phone call becomes, the more he continues. Purring in my ear like a fucking cat. My mind spinning. My panties wet. Concentration shot. My nonchalant "mmm hmm's" and "uhh huh's" turning into muffled moans as my head drops into my hands. Closed eyes masked by long hair hanging down.

There comes a point when I can't take it for another minute. When I realize my hand has snaked between my thighs. When I know that I will answer "fuck me" out loud. When I think that I will cum in my seat. It is at that point that I lean over and slam the phone down. When I shake my head and say "fucking asshole" to the people around me they assume it was that jerk of a client again.

If only they knew they weren't all that far off.

Certainty

I realize now, with absolute certainty, that he owns my fuck.

Astounding, to me, that he is the one.

He's certainly not my first lover. Undoubtedly not my last. So imagine my surprise when I realize that he IS sex to me. My fuck is his. He owns it. Forever more.

Allow me to explain.

Your childhood is owned by your parents. Controlled and shaped by how they see fit to raise you.

Your teenage years are owned by your friends. Influencing how you see the world and your place in it.

After that comes your job, your spouse, your kids, your life, etc...all quickly making you slave to a boss, an income, responsibility.

My body is my own. I have control of that. Its good and its bad are my doing. My mind is my own. I am free to think and be as I want.

But what of my sex? That pure, raw, sensual passion. The look, the touch, the fantasy. What of the experience and the feelings it stirs. The places and the cums, the sensations and the memories. Those are his. He owns my fuck. And every single thing associated with it. Everything and everyone I have ever done, has led me to him. I don't think it has a thing to do with age, or skill, or experience.

Why do I know this? Why am I so certain that it is him?

It's his absolute acceptance of every ounce of my body, my lust, my wants. There are no secrets, no boundaries, no awkward moments. Everything about him turns me on and makes me want more of him. He knows without me saying. He does without me having to ask. He knows what I want and need before I do. It is strictly sex. There are no worries and responsibilities, no accountability. There are no emotions tangled up, no jealousies, no expectations. It is simply a body shared, a release granted. He and I exist as an "us" for one reason only, and that is to fuck.

There will be other lovers. There will be even better lovers. I am not his and he is not mine. We are free to give and to get as often as luck and fate will allow. But I know to my dying day that when I think of sex and all its nuances, I will think of him. He, quite simply...owns...my...fuck.

I ask you....who owns yours?

Urgent

You walk in the front door and he is standing there in the hallway, leaning against the wall and waiting. You walk up to him innocently enough. You start to say something. He grabs you and kisses you, not romantic, soft or sweet. No this is a kiss from a man who wants to fuck. He thrusts his tongue down your throat. His hands reach down between your thighs and grab your pussy. He wants to use you how he see's fit.

He grabs you by the hair and yanks you down onto your knees. He places his hand on the back of your head and force feeds you his cock. He goes deep into your throat and you gag, but he holds you, making you take all of him. He fucks your mouth deep, then deeper. You are having trouble breathing. He watches his cock disappear in your mouth. The more you push back against his thighs, struggle for control, the tighter his grip in your hair becomes.

In a flash you find yourself bent face down over the table. His hands shove up your skirt and yank down your panties. He wants one thing, and one thing only from you now. To fuck you. There is no point in resisting as he will get what he wants. He winds his hand in your long hair and forces your head back just far enough to whisper in your ear "Ready?" at the same time he shoves his cock in deep.

He fucks you. He is not going slowly, not at all. He is fucking you hard and fast. You feel him slamming into you. He pins your wrists at the small of your back and slams into you. You are being fucked from behind so hard that you grip the edge of the table. He calls you a slut and he calls you his whore. You hear him groan and you know he is close. With a final thrust he loses it, cumming fast and hard in your cunt.

You stand up, pull your panties up your thighs, push down your skirt, wipe your mouth, and walk away without a word. It is only when you get to the door that you remember something and you walk back to him. Eye to eye now you answer him...."I am always ready".