Cunt love, heart love

I'm trembling in my chest, my eyes watering, throbbing in my pussy and utterly receptive to his touch.

Deep love and deep fucking.

I've reached a place with someone where my heart and my cunt are intertwined. A nexus where one expresses the desire of the other. He whispers, but even his whispers are fierce and assertive. Firm.

He's probing me, penetrating me with his questions and at the same time, he seizes my lower lip with his teeth and plunges his finger into my ass. "Tell me, K" and he's broken down any resistance I had. I gasp the answer out, involutarily. He's found these keys to me.

He kisses me. Soft, wet and my heart opens. My pussy opens.

For me, the beauty in sex and love comes down to surrender and trust. When that's there, on a deep, deep level, a kind of alchemy takes place. The very air is charged and miasmic. Four words out of my lover's mouth have rendered we wet. A one line text message has made me weak in the knees.

Cunt love and heart love have become the same. I love equally with both now. Eddie Murphy in raw/delirious has this fantastic segment where he's fucked this woman senseless and he's asking her – "Who’s pussy is it? Who's pussy is it?" Anyone who has been well and truly fucked, knows whose pussy it is. It isn’t yours anymore. And that’s how it ought to be.