I'm The Wench To His Brute

You're Ginger to my Fred. You're Ginny to my Harry. You're Belladonna to the butch lesbian trapped inside me.

The wench to my Brute.

Sleep well my wench.

The Brute

I'd told him that I loved Ren Faires.  It was a passing reference, but he obviously seized on it and began calling me wench.  I loved it.

When he says something, even though it's playful, it's deadly serious.  I am transformed into his wench.  He is my Brute.  It's that simple, the magic he works with his words.  He's quick witted, this man.  He knows about the things that I do, and he references them well.  Films and literature and comic books.  He knows other things as well, things of which I'm fairly innocent.  Nipple clamps and anal sex and how to make a woman *** on command.  He's quite adept at that last one, in fact. 

It's a skill of his for which I'm profoundly grateful, as he's exercised it on me many a time.  The other day, he talked me through a lovely visualization as I stood naked in my home, his voice clear and strong over the phone.  What follows is a rough transcript of his lovely words as he took me.

You're nude, and I come from behind, my jeans unbuttoned and thrust down, falling around my ankles. I start ******* you right there.  My hand is on your *** cheek, and I just crack it really hard.

I winced, feeling the sting as surely as if he'd done it.

My left hand grabs your *****.  It's really nice and tight, and I take my **** out and ease it in your *****, opening you with the tip.  You squeeze it.

I felt my ***** muscles clench in response to his suggestive words.  It was one of those these-aren't-the-droids-you're-looking-for moments, as my pal RunToTheMoon joked.

I grab your hips, pumping my **** into you.  You scream really loud.

I moaned softly, wishing he and his **** were there.  There'd be screaming for sure.  I can scream quite loudly when properly stimulated to do so.

I quicken my pace.  You ask me if you can ***; I tell you yes.  Then I release, and you can feel it.

Oddly enough, I can.

The waves of your ****** are strong as my **** is shooting inside you.  I pull you into my hips so I can get every drop into you.  You say "thank you, sir."  You get on your knees, and you lick me off your --

He hesitated.

off my ****.  MY ****. 

He laughed.

I laughed.  It was easy to goof up one's personal pronouns in the midst of passionate words.   wondered if he was remembering that I'd written of pegging.  This is one guy I don't think will ever indulge my desire for that.  And it is a desire, make no mistake.  But I have other men who will gladly take my ****.  I focused on his words again.

Then I spank your *** and we go back in the car.  And we go to Denny's.  Because we're in the middle of ******* nowhere.  I will order a Grand Slam.  And we will laugh about what we've done.

"And I shall order a Moon Over My Hammy," I announced.   I thought briefly of my grad school days in the middle of ******* nowhere, where Denny's was one of a very few options for a meal at certain hours. 

"I don't think you'll wear panties ever again," he mused.  "We'll have a panty bonfire."  

I thought of the huge end-of-school-year bonfire in the tiny village in Ireland, where the kids all tossed their papers and notebooks into a giant mess and a father lit it and everyone laughed and ran around, happy for the summer to finally be there so the other sorts of learning could occur.  Not the stuff in a classroom, which is good and valuable, make no mistake, but the stuff that makes life rich in other ways.

I could imagine so clearly doing these things with this man, and then heading to Denny's with him and laughing.  That's the thing.  He is deadly serious, but he is playful and fun.  I'd like to travel back to the time of the Renaissance, to enjoy the wonder of that time.  But Ren Faires are great fun, and we can pretend.  I dress in my long gown and put flowers in my hair and wander about watching jousts and drinking mead and nodding graciously at players who call me M'lady.  And I like being his wench, even if it is just via online and on the phone.   For now, that is enough.  It is the stuff that makes my life rich in other ways.
milkynips milkynips
46-50, F
1 Response May 23, 2012

A meal at Denny's after a good night of unadulterated sex would be good Milky. Meet ya there babe ;)