Wednesday, October 9, 2013

Love

Last night my cop made love to me. More than usual. In his way. What I mean by that is he showed his love. In between the slaps on the face, the lip biting and the squeezing and headlocks, he kept asking if I was okay, and looking into my eyes as he caressed my face. I get it now why he likes to hurt me.

Ever have a good, passionate tumble with someone and you play rough, wanting to feel their body in any one you can? You press your body against his hard. You kiss him hard, you fuck him hard. Rough, man-to-man sex, where you feel glad you’re a man and you’re having sex with another man. I think now that getting rough with me has become – or maybe it always was – a way of making love. Sure, he admitted to having fantasies about overpowering  the powerful businessman, and that’s still an important part of the game.

All this anal-y-sis when I really want to say my cop FUCKING LOVES ME!!!! So much! I hope he know that I love him too. He asked me again why I do this, service him. I told him all the reasons. I don’t think I’m convincing. Maybe I’m still skeptical about love, afraid of letting him know I love him because past patterns always seemed to end in heartache. But it’s been two years now, two years of great sex, passion, him talking me into getting back with him, me begging to take me back (at a different time), separation, even two evenings of lacklustre trysts. He’s so kind, sincere, loving, lovingly rough, masterful, and beautiful. Oh, so beautiful. I don’t know if there’ll be anything to say anymore. I never know what will be next. Always a mystery. I’m his humble slave, and I’m richly rewarded.



Oh, and last night, immediately after coming in my throat, he had me sit on his cock and ride him. For the first time, it felt fucking good! Real good. He loved it to, coaxing me to ride it up and down: "Fuck me!" he ordered. I was really feeling it where I'm supposed to! Yahoo!




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