Miss Makeover: Bad Sex on Drugs
By Rollerblade on November 17, 2010
Geezer is pronging me relentlessly. I’m bouncing up and down, or being bounced, on a Cialis cock, which has somehow got through the cocaine barrier and will be at his disposal for at least 48 hours. Which might sound like heaven but what he’s trying to do is to get his mostly numb body to orgasm, using me as a sexual aid.
So he’s going to try something new. I get dumped face downwards, bum up, with the merest whisper of an endearment to remind us we are lovers. It’s been a long night. At various points he has spanked me raw, then pistoned back in from different angles, not all advantageous to me.
I ought to hate this. But I’m numb too. Stuffing anything up my nose tends to lead to getting everything stuffed down below. It’s a poor relation of love. With someone who isn’t My Man Max.
Is Mongrel Man enough? Geezer: intelligent and loyal. House trained. Frightening enough to keep any attacker at bay. Hard Hound Hardnut. Once a ‘Top Boy’, now he’s a top dog. Do I want to be his bitch though? Not bloody likely…
I feel even fuller this way up – or down, face stuffed into the pillow.
When he next gets close to coming, and realises that only a heart attack will do it, I tell him that he doesn’t have to come. It’s tantric sex. Look at it as charging himself up for next time. He tries once more. Eventually he realises that if he stops pumping me he can have more coke. He disengages.
I groan with gratitude. My poor, sore lady parts.
“Babe. It’s great,” I breathe. “But I have to sleep.”
Sweat drips into his eyes. You could probably get high from licking it. But I want to drift into my dreams.
“You’re lovely,” he tells me. Before ruining it with a monster snort and stuffing a finger up his nose. Wouldn’t want to miss any bits now would we? My Man Max would never do that. He’s a two glass of wine man. Where is he?