Long Distance Longing

I want a spanking. I want one.

Part of the problem with long distance relationships is the intangible aspect. I miss touching. I want his hands all over me. I want them on my hair, my face, my mouth, my neck, my tits, my nipples, my back, my cunt, my ass, my thighs, my ankles. I want his mouth in mine; I want to chew on his lips, spiral my tongue into his throat and suck on him until I get dizzy.

It’s not pretty, or the stuff of great literature, but it’s uncomplicated.

I want my thighs wrapped around him, squeezing his hips tightly, closing him into my lap and swallowing him with my arms. I am crazy, disgustingly crazy, for his touch. I want to feel him underneath me; I want to sit on top of him and grind my sloppy cunt against him while he cums, and then cums again. I want his hands on my body, not simply dewy or glistening, but sweating—beads and rivulets. I want to feel my hair sticking to my neck, my back, my face while he pushes up against me. I want to feel his fingers sink hard into my soft hips, his fingernails ripping into me as he holds me tight against him.

I want him to hear me breathing his name into his ear, and I want him to feel my ragged breath against the tiny, indiscernible fuzz on his ears, his neck. I want to bite him and hold on, my teeth the only thing binding me to him as his fucking gets rough, more irregular, sinking his cock into me, holding it there while my cunt swells and cradles, suffocates.

And I want a spanking too. Maybe more.

It depends on the day. Probably more.

I want him to pull down my jeans, run his hands over my ass, and then push me over something. The couch, the bed. I want to feel just the spanking at first….I know he’ll like it…I will want his lap underneath me soon enough. I want to feel him behind me, I want the surprise…I want to feel the pause…the anticipation, waiting for when he wants to spank me…how fast, how hard.

I want him to concentrate on my ass, first. I want him to hit me hard; I want to feel the pain of it all over my body. I want to lay still, my legs trapped in my jeans while I struggle to submit to it. I want to beg him, and whether or not he stops, I want it to have nothing to do with my begging.

I want to feel leather against my skin—a belt, a whip, a strap, something. I like the romance of it; I like the severity and removal. I like the mind space you have to occupy to beat someone like an animal. I like how humiliating and degrading it is; I like how uncomplicated it is. I like how much it heats your skin, the simple licking of a leather tongue on your hidden flesh. It smells like sex.

I want him to spank me hard, and long. Longer than I think I can take, longer than he thinks I can take. I want him to hurt me; I want him to want to hurt me.

And then, on his lap. I want him to slap my ass while I ride him. Not hard, just occasionally; I want to feel his hands then. I want him to call me whore then…cumslut, fucktoy, baby girl, little one, cunt. I want him to use me; I want to see his face. I want to see blank pleasure curving his lips, dilating his glossy pupils. I want him to hurt me and use me, spank me and fuck me, because it brings him a pleasure that nothing else can.

I want to feel the deep scratches in my back, on my ass when he cums. Not tell me, not warn me. No permission, no acknowledging necessary. Just use me until he’s finished. And then, push me off, onto the floor, onto my knees, crush me against the wall, grab my hair and force his slick cock into my mouth, ask me, “What do you say?”

“What do you say?”

And fill my throat while I thank him.