His Dirty Mouth
I am a woman of taste, refinement, and culture. The men I date respect me. They say “please”, and “thank you”, and ask gently if everything’s all right when we’re in bed. They open car doors, give me careful kisses, and always, always ask my opinion.
I hate it.
At one time, I thought I loved it. Then I met the sexiest, most vulgar man I’ve ever been lucky enough to climb in bed with. He was a Southern boy, always talking without moving his jaw, sneering at my Yankee accent. Taunting me. He was absolutely infuriating. But I kept coming back for more, half out of amusement, half out of sheer interest. Eventually our friendship turned into more of a sexual tug of war, as I fought to maintain my respectability and poise, and he stripped it away piece by piece.
I loved it.
I remember the shock I felt when he said, “Baby. I need to fuck you.”
Number one, no one had ever called me “baby”. Number two, no one had ever called it “fucking” to my face! Where had all the gentle euphemisms gone? What in the hell was this, and where did he get off? All I could think of to say was a stunned, “Excuse me?!” Of course, there was a prompt reply of, “You heard me. And you like the idea.”
So sure of himself!
I lay in bed that night thinking of that single sentence, and how forward and commanding it was. I heard his voice in my head. Telling me he wanted to sleep with me, as a simple statement of fact. Eventually, I started agreeing with him. I did want to fuck him. Not making love, something sweet with candles and soft music. Fucking. Something hot, something dirty, something done with half-pulled off clothes in a hurry. I wondered what fucking him would be like. My hand drifted downwards¦.
I stammered and blushed the next day when he gave me a smile and asked if I wanted to fuck him yet. I denied it, of course. I was trying to be respectable.
He was away for a while, so one day we were talking on the phone. We were flirting away, joking around, generally missing each other. There was a small pause in the conversation for a moment. Then he said, “Sugar, I want you to do something for me.”
“What’s that?” I asked.
“Take off your pants,” he said.
I started laughing. “No way!”
His voice got stern. “Slut, you belong to me. Take off your fucking pants.”
Something in my brain fired up then. The blood streamed to my face. He was dead serious. “Okay,” I whispered.
“Good girl,” he said. “You like being called a slut, don’t you?”
I didn’t answer. He started to chuckle. “Yes. Yes, you fucking do.Wonderful. Tell me, sweetheart, are you lying down?”
“Yes,” I answered meekly.
“Good. Now take off your panties and push your shirt up.”
I was too curious and hot by this time to refuse.
“Hold on,” I whispered, and slid my panties off. I pulled up my shirt and laid back down. “Okay,” I said. “Hang on, what are you doing?”
“I’m lying in bed, and I’ve got my dick out. We’re going to come together.”
I didn’t answer. I was so turned on. I bit my lip, and waited. He was running this show.
“I love that sexy fucking voice of yours,” he whispered into the phone. “It gets me so hard. I want to fuck you.”
I inhaled hard. “Are you touching yourself yet?” he asked.
“No,” I said.
“Find out if you’re wet,” he ordered.
I felt myself, although I really didn’t need to. I was very wet, and told him so.
“Good,” he said. “Now slap that pussy for me.”
I gave it a gentle slap.
“I didn’t hear that,” he said. “Louder.”
I smacked it harder. My clit pulsed. “You had to hear that!”
“I sure did, honey. Did it feel good?”
“Yes, yes it did.” Curiosity got the better of me again. “What are you thinking about?”
“I’m thinking about fucking you from behind, holding your wrists behind your back, pushing your face down into the mattress. Fucking you like the slut you are.”
I couldn’t help a moan slipping out.
He laughed quietly. “There’s my girl” he said. “You like that, slut?”
“¦.Yes. Yes, I do.”
“Tell me why you like it.”
I had no idea why. Because it was dirty, impersonal, and savage? So different from gentle men, and their gentle sex, and long gazes and promises of love? Because it was offered only as pleasure, and pleasure was expected to be had?
I got bolder. “I want your hand in my hair.”
“Yeah?” he whispered. “You want me to pull your head back while I fuck you from behind? Hold you there?”
“Oh, God,” I moaned. I swallowed hard.
“I want you sucking my dick. Tell me how you’d suck my dick.”
“I’d take the head in my mouth, just kissing and licking the head. Then I’d start sucking gently, working my way up. But I want your hands on my head. I want you in charge.”
He groaned. “You’re good at this, sugar.”
I laughed quietly. “I had no idea I was going to be.”
His breathing was picking up, going faster. I closed my eyes, and thought about being face down in some impersonal hotel room, the lampshades crooked, face pressed into a cheap comforter while he groaned behind me. I bit my lip, and rubbed my clit in faster circles.
“You got a toy?” he said in a strained voice.
“Yeah, let me get it.”
I picked up the small dildo, given as a gift from a friend. I’d only used it once or twice, and I pulled it out from the drawer, hidden beneath towels and pillowcases.
“Fuck yourself with it,” he said. “Imagine my dick inside you, fucking you hard.”
I pushed it in to the hilt, and started working it. “Faster,” he gasped.
The change in his voice was so sexy. It was so low and husky, so full of need. I could hear how turned on he was, right up against my ear. My hips were moving up and down, my calves clenched, toes curling up.
“You want me, slut?” he asked. “You’re mine. I’m your goddamned master. Fuck yourself faster and harder.”
I cried out, hard and long. “Are you going to come soon?” I gasped.
“Yeah, baby. Are you close?”
“I am. Let me hear when you come. I want to fucking hear you come.”
He groaned again. It drove me close to the edge, and the aggressiveness of our talking was bringing up something so carnal and animal in me. It was almost like slapping each other. I was going to come hard.
He grunted my name. And there was a deep, shuddering exhale of breath. He was gasping.
I squeezed my eyes shut, and writhed on the couch, loving his noises. I pushed the dildo in again, hard and deep, and pinched my clit. I gritted my teeth, and moaned as I came, nearly squealing into the phone.
It was quiet for a moment, and I heard the click-scrape of the lighter as he lit a cigarette.
My chest was still heaving, but I still said, “Wow.”
“No kidding, sugar,” he laughed.
“I just¦can’t believe how much I enjoyed you talking to me like that!”
“I knew there was a slut in there, honey. I just had to find her.”
I laughed. “Well¦she told me to tell you that she likes you.”