Rough sex

June 11, 2017

Everyone says they’re into rough sex. And I have to bite my tongue because nine times out of ten they’re talking about pulling hair, scratches, and biting. That’s not rough sex. That’s barely even foreplay.

Rough sex is getting shoved up against the wall, the skirt of your dress pulled up to your mouth then stuffed in to keep your whimpers hushed, the palm of their hand cups your cheek in mock compassion before it slams the side of your head into the wall just enough to make you dizzy. Rough sex is trusting your partner but they push limits that question if you should. Rough sex is being beat black and blue from your collar bone to your toes. Rough sex is true fear, wondering when or if you should use your safe word. Rough sex is the tears streaming down your face while choking on his dick. Rough sex is the busted lip because you forgot what number you were on when he brought down his belt on your thighs. Rough sex is the sadist and masochist coming happily together. Rough sex is the smile on your face when you sit down the next day and feel the pain shoot down your legs.

But if I say that openly in conversation, I’m the weird one?

Burnt out Bunny

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