Fuck My Face

Fuck My Face

Fuck my face. It’s my favorite phrase. As a threat, it’s gorgeous. Voluptuous. As an act, it’s best done and won: messy. When I’m done I want to look bad.

Fuck my face.

It’s my favorite phrase.

As a threat, it’s gorgeous. Voluptuous.

As an act, it’s best done and won: messy.

When I’m done I want to look bad.

HOW TO LOOK BAD WHEN DOING IT GOOD Face fucking is reserved for when I’m hungry. Nay, starving.

Face fucking is reserved for when I haven’t eaten in a long time.

Face fucking is reserved for when I want my lover, a current, preoccupied, solitary object of my universe of lust: bad. I reserve this special act for when I haven’t seen him in awhile.

I reserve this table for two of us that have a history of not being able to keep our hands off each other and, in absentia, are always pawing at the idea of aching because we haven’t seen one another.

I want more than shivers — I want pain. I want aching, panty-soaking agony.

Enter: anticipation. Bad.

The height of pleasure occurs just before the fulfillment of desire.

You need: anticipation.

You need: want.

THE PAINT Then, you need mascara. But not any mascara.

You need cheap mascara. Non-waterproof mascara.

So it will bleed down your face.

In the perfect pool of his release, drool, mascara and tears.

I will know how good I did by how bad I look.

My favorite part of all of this? It’s post coitus, when I go to the bathroom, confused and battered and sore and dripping with fluids, his and mine. For some reason I always forget. Then I turn on the light, or turn into the vanity and the mirror. And: holy fuck.

I love this kind of art: that crime scene which is my face.

I'M A SIZE QUEEN It’s not like you think.

For the best face fucking of your life: you want a smaller size. I repeat: smaller sizes are way better.

Larger ones can be too much, even risky. Men with smaller sizes apply, inside.

HOW TO REALLY LOOK BAD WHEN DOING IT GOOD The standard positioning is: me sitting on my bed, high up on my pillows, with him over me, leaning into the wall. Taking me deeply.

When I really want to feel close to death, I will lay down on my bed, head over the edge and motion for him to stand over me.

Fuck my face. Please fuck my face.

Upside down.

A rush of blood to the head.

FEED ME YOUR MEAT When I’m upside down, the trick is to open the envelope. All the way.

The envelope: your throat.

Once he starts moving, let him deliver all of his passion.

Don’t flinch.

For a proper face fucking, his body should be pressing into yours, in your face.

When you open the envelope it ensures: maximum drool.

You want that milky stringy drool. And the best and quickest way to get this is to: open the envelope.

GAG ME I want to almost puke.

I love the feeling of nearly-vomiting.

I’ll control the heaving of my insides and the want to spew all over.

Your hands on his body will be your traffic light. It’ll let him know when you need to surface for breath.

Keep your hands free.

For when he starts to move with increasing urgency toward his climax, I don’t want his release deep in my throat. I want it in my mouth, on my tongue, dripping out and onto my face.

AN ACT OF SUBMISSION: IN REVERSE I love submitting to another. Moreover, I love submitting to an idea.

And then: perverting it.

Whilst face fucking is being done to me, I am the creator of the situation. I am the controller.

I submit, so I can get what I want: a Rothko, Pollack painted face.

Anticipate in agony.

Order a smaller slice of meat.

Dominate your submission.

Then, viola!

Congratulations: you’ve been face fucked.

Hard.