Coral Hull: Prose: Work The Sex: After that incident I actually enjoyed receiving pain to the ...

I MACKENZIE KNIGHT I A CHILD OF WRATH A GOD OF LOVE I FALLEN ANGELS EXPOSED I

CORAL HULL: WORK THE SEX
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After that incident I actually enjoyed receiving pain to the neck. While still in high school I dated this mad Christian masochist who rode a motorbike. We used to exchange varying degrees of pain during our moments of sexual intimacy. He would have me push him onto the electric stove while we were kissing, so that the hotplate singed his jeans. Meanwhile I got him to crush the skin on the front of my neck between his teeth. He really hurt me sometimes. I could literally come off with him biting into my neck and not even touching the rest of my body. I used to picture myself in one of those African documentaries as a part of a dry season carrion-infested scene at a waterhole, myself as a wildebeest and him as a lioness feeding at my throat. At the same time, I didn't like watching those programs, because of what happened to animals, especially the young ones. But I liked to be fed upon by someone who was fucking me. It was kinda like letting the life-force take over, and letting my mind go off like birds up into trees. While dating him I had to walk around in the warmer weather with scarves and jumpers covering up my bruised neck. I also enjoyed having my air supply cut off while we were fucking, so that upon orgasm I didn't know whether I was going to live or die.

Men always think that they're dying when they come 'cause they lose their minds. Well, that's what I wanted. In the end I didn't like coming, even though I had vaginal orgasms, without the pain in my neck as well. It was kind of like my second orgasm, and in some ways more powerful. Fucking my cunt could never bring my neck to climax, but biting into my neck could make me come. The weaker and weedy the guy's personality, the less likely I was to want to see him naked, and the more likely I was to want to have my neck mutilated. Perhaps I was such a strong woman that the weeds didn't satisfy me, unless I sustained the vision that they were feasting on my carcass during intercourse. It was like I was so powerful that they didn't have a chance at fucking me unless I was half dead, strangulated, half-clothed or bound up in some way for their desire and amusement. And so that their weak hearts and little pricks could somehow finally make their dominant way in and out of me, the complex city. 'Oh yeah,' said Jackie, 'I know the feeling, love. I had a fucking great afternoon. I fucked a fat guy, an abo and a bikie and all with the flu and a toothache.'

Jackie speaks: It was just the usual story when yet another fuckwit filled the 'predictable' category. He just had to come. He'd been seeing hookers for years, had a mistress, escorts, flew women overseas, and all behind his wife's back. I had met his wife at the local stationary shop. She was a little downtrodden. She didn't know, but part of her did. She had that unconscious, sour mistrusting look. This guy was foul, a real player. He'd seen too many hookers to really enjoy himself any more. He had a funny shaped dick, a bit like a pyramid. It was small at the top and then spread out at the base like a triangle. It was also the smallest dick I ever saw. Once in the room, he tried to boss me around, disrespecting my authority. I remained all nicey-nice, but couldn't wait to see the tail end of him, fully dressed and leaving the room. He left me with a feeling of general distaste. My position was discreet. His was dishonest. He knew that he had fucked up in his empty life and in his boring stable marriage of convenience. He went on and on about an operation on his varicose veins, until I thought I was going to puke. I think he may have been trying to arouse my sympathy. He may as well have showed me his haemorrhoids.

I'm not like you at all, Roxanne. I hate hearing about all that shit. They should save that for their doctors or their wives. As usual, these hour bookings are a lot bloody harder than the half-hours. At least then it all timed out easily, more like a factory and less spontaneous. You don't have to think on your feet or on your back as much. You only got to do 'em, you don't gotta understand 'em. It's a fuck not a fucken honeymoon! These blokes! What next?! Really, I only wanted the money but that's a nicer way of putting it. It's often amazing what some of these dopes can get up to in an hour. At first he's all tense and still in his clothes, and not knowing what to do. He only knows that he is horny and lonely, and somewhere in the back of his mind, he has convinced himself that he doesn't have to pay for it. Likewise she has convinced herself that she doesn't have to sell her body for the money. The massage begins. By the end of the booking he's all happy and dreamy lying in her arms. Of course he could fall asleep like that. He hasn't got a girlfriend. He's still a little angry at women (who just want him for his money), after being ripped off by his first true love. I said, 'At least this way you know what you're getting. You can spend all night sweet-talking a chick who promised to eventually give it away, buy her drinks, most likely double spirits or cocktails. Then on the first date, you take her to a nice restaurant and a late movie and whatever, and then at the end of it she gets drunk and turns all frigid. She might even have the clap!' I clapped my hands suddenly, shocking my client. 'Wake up, Australia!'

    

This website is part of my personal testimony that has been guided by The Holy Spirit and written in Jesus' name.

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