Sartorial Sex

Sartorial Sex? Thanks but no thanks.

Sartorial sex? Sex that needs dressing up in elaborate clothes? Sex that involves embellishment in its retelling? Sex that requires exaggeration of the frequency and intensity of orgasmic sensations?
I don’t think so!

I don’t need sartorial sex!
I don’t need to pretend that the sex that I have is anything other than what it is. It requires no dressing up.

My sex is a cunt and a cock; mutually needy, mutually moist, mutually content.
Perfect wholeness, perfect oneness.
Total togetherness, complete individuality.
Serenity, sensation.
Peace, pandemonium.

My sex is loving and it is frantic. It is lusty but not driven by a lust. It is full of the most vital ingredients of respect, understanding, warmth, desire, passion, caring and an abundance of others that are equally important.

My sex fulfils me utterly to the point of seeming saturation. Only there is never a point when I do not want sex.
My mouth may shout “No more” but as I scream the words my legs are opening and begging for him to reach inside me once more, pounding again at the most intense point of amalgamated flesh that is protecting and collecting around my g-spot.

My sex is demanding and compassionate. It is liberating and yet I want it to devour me too, metaphorically tying me to the bed to take more and more of this perpetual brilliance.

My sex is intensely passionate. It is aggressive in touch and expectation. It is delicate in its penetration and feeling. At one minute I am begging for his cock to ram me as hard as he can, to bang forcefully into my cunt, pushing his delights so far into me that my entire abdomen seems to be exploding with an array of consciousness from every strand of skin that he gloriously manipulates. At other times, I can hardly feel him easing himself inside my body such is the juiciness of our bodies and the fixation on eyes and thoughts and feelings. There is a naked invisibility to our desire that makes the entire togetherness feel ephemeral so slight is the touch. Yet it is far from fleeting.

I call for more knowing that my body can hardly take another incursion, not that I ever feel that such divine penetration is offensive.
I beg for his cock because there is nothing, nothing, nothing that gives me more pleasure, more delight.
I need his cock, I need his adoration, I need his touch, I need to be held, to be cared for.

My sex gives me all of this, and in receiving, I give, and in giving, I receive.

My sex is my everything. There is nothing more important in my world. This sex is the pinnacle of human experience. It is where passions collide and mutually excite.

I want to write reams about this. I could write reams. I want to labour every single sensation so that the reader can see just how extremely important this sexual experience and my sexuality is.
And yet, my sex is a cock and a cunt.
It is that simple.
There is nothing more to say despite my wish to explain more.

My cunt, his cunt.
His cock, my cock.
Mine and his without possession, without ownership, without dependency.
Mine and his with possession, with ownership, with dependency in that single moment where the oneness and the desire for one another supersedes everything else.
It is a cock and a cunt.
That is all and a million things beside.

Am I needy? How can I possibly be so when I have had this sort of sexual experience?
Am I needy? Completely – to the point that I almost feel that I cannot get through the next twenty four hours without this majestic, sexual wonderment immediately.
My cunt is absolutely brimming with immense satisfaction at the moment but such incredible perusal of my cunt leaves it physically very tender. The tiniest of movements evokes an awakening, reminding me of what I have received all day. I have an orgasm collecting there in an instance.
My cunt is metaphorically bruised by amazing, incredible fucking. That sensation is still there some eight hours afterwards.
It is almost as though it is reminding me, no telling me, that I should and will have more. I may have to wait but I will definitely want more.

Is it wrong to want more? Shouldn’t I be satisfied by this immense sex and be grateful that I have ever had this experience? Of course but I would be insane, having had this experience, to simply park it as a memory and not desire it once more.

If I could, I would be lying back in bed right now. If I could I would be holding my cock, his cock in my hand, rubbing it into life, making it as erect and needy as it was earlier today. If I could, I would be begging him to rub my clitoris whilst he pushed his fingers inside me. If I could, I would spray my pussy juices all over him whilst demanding that he fills my cunt with ‘my’ cock. If I could, I would hold his face as he grabs a plentiful amount of flesh from my breasts, fondling them and forcing my nipple into an erection of its own. If I could I would plead with him to stop and immediately stipulate how much I need him back in me. If I could I would have him back in me and I would immediately be gushing my juices all over his shaft and feeling them ooze out of me to soak his awaiting balls. If I could, I would push his hands behind my arse and encourage him to spunk his gorgeous whiteness into my awaiting pussy. If I could I would insist that he talks to me and tells me how all of this feels. If I could I would tell him how fucking adorable he is and he would reciprocate knowing that a physical reward to such words are a mere second delayed. If I could we would orgasm together and fall into one another externally and internally, together and alone, loving and knowing.
Blissful in one another’s deliciousness.

If I could do all of this I would need no sartorial nonsense to elaborate my sex.

Because this sex is Satori; the ultimate expression of everything and nothing, of companionship and oneness, of complete satisfaction and an incredible desire for more.
Satori cannot really be explained. It is almost absurd to do so.
It is our cock and our cunt but it is abundantly more than that and yet in its simplicity, it is exactly that; his cock, his cunt.

All I know is that I can never ever return to a pre-satori sex existence. My cunt deserves the sex that I have. It has given me meaning. It has made sense of my being, of me being who I am. It has made me.

As I lie in nothingness and everything, I care about nothing and I care for everything. I consider my needs and I consider nothing at all.
I think there is nothing but nothing IS everything.

And that is the elaborate state of sex; the simplicity of knowing that through sex we can achieve a state of nothingness which encapsulates the most essential, precious component of life itself...............


.........................as I said, it really is not that easy to explain but for those who have got no idea what I am talking about, I sincerely hope you have this sort of sex to come. It is possible and from someone who had to do just this, it is worth waiting for.

Just expect your neediness to increase though.

As I said at the beginning, Sartorial sex? You can keep it. I don't need pretty pictures or beautiful drapes.
I need the nothingness of and the completeness of being.
I need satori.
And so do you.