I've got a word kink.

Certain words, delivered at just the right moment in time, will drive straight through me like a lightning bolt, penetrating every fibre of my being with their power.

Here, now, just barely inside the front door of my apartment, me facing the wall and him behind me, pressing his body against my back, one hand gripping me by the hair, pulling, bending my neck back, and the other tightly holding my hip as he grinds what I can feel is a rock solid cock against my arse.

We're both fully clothed. As soon as we entered my home his firm hands were on my shoulders, turning me, pushing me, literally putting me in my place up against the wall.

Our breathing is hot and heavy, like we've both just raced a sprint. He twists my head to the side and his mouth is on mine, wet and sloppy half kisses, his tongue between my open lips in a way that would feel horrible in any other circumstances, but right here, right now, feels just about perfect.

He stops kissing me and licks the side of my face, another act that should feel disgusting and weird, but doesn't. It's one long, continuous drag of his tongue along my jawbone and up over my ear, where he stops and takes my lobe between his teeth.

He bites down on it, the sweet pain lighting up that entire side of my head. He knows what he's doing. He applies the perfect amount of pressure and then maintains it, just on the absolute cusp of agony, but not quite.

He keeps me there, pinned hard, my tits squashed against the hard wall, his hard dick dry-fucking my ass, his hard teeth digging into my soft ear, and then, said through his teeth, he uses one of the hard words I've told him I like.

"Slut."

There's almost no space between his mouth and my inner ear. No distance for the word to travel, no dissipation of the vibrations his voice makes in the air.

I physically feel the word; the slightly drawn out 's', the wetness of the 'l', the emptiness of the 'u' and then the hard punching power of that final 't'.

Slut.

What I am because it's what I was always told never to be.

Slut.

What I am because it's the one thing women should be ashamed of being called.

Slut.

The last thing a girl wanted to be called in highschool, and the last thing a woman wants to be called anywhere.

Well, not every woman.

It's a word with so much power over me that I feel my already wet pussy literally begin to flood, and I press my arse against your steadily grinding dick.

He releases my ear and the pain that was beginning to dull suddenly flares back up, and I feel the lobe throbbing in time with my pulse. He keeps his mouth pressed against my ear, flicks his figure briefly inside it, sending little shivers of pleasure travelling down the back and side of my neck.

"You dirty... nasty... cock-hungry little... slut."

Dirty.

Nasty.

"Please," I beg. "Please."

"Please what?" he asks, and I can hear the taunting held within those two simple words, and know that his mouth is curled into a cruel smile as he utters them. I hate that he enjoys treating me this way. I wish that I could be happy with a man who only ever says sweet, loving words to me. I wish that I could be like those other women who are so perfectly put together, with their perfect lives and their perfect marriages and their perfect fucking children. I wish I didn't need to be here, in my own home, begging to be fucked and called the filthiest of names by him.

But, I do.

I fought against it for years, but for whatever reasons, this is what I need.

"Please fuck me," I plead.

And he kicks at my ankles. He doesn't gently part my thighs, or ask me to open my legs; hekicks at the insides of my ankles in the way the police do in movies when they've got a bad guy against a wall and they're about to search them.

I move my feet in the direction he kicks them, opening my legs until the fit of my dress means I can't open them any further.

"Wider, slut," he commands. "Get those whore legs open wider."

Whore.

Even worse than slut, but also so much fucking better.

"I can't," I say, truthfully.

He presses his forehead hard against the side of my head and squeezes me into the wall, the pressure on my skull almost unbearable, he grunts in angry frustration, his dirty mouth still against my ear. He pins me there with his head and I feel him yanking and tugging upwards on my dress, can hear the threads of the fabric straining at the seams, can hear ripping and tearing, can feel the friction on the outside of my legs as he forces it up over my body until I can feel my arse is uncovered and vulnerable.

He knees the insides of my thighs hard enough that I know they'll be bruised in the morning.

"Open your fucking legs, slut."

I spread them as wide as I can in this position, my shoulders and tits hard against the wall, my head turned to the side, my arms and hands above my head. I'm wearing heels and my right ankle twists inwards slightly, sending a stab of pain up my leg. I want to take them off, but I know he likes me wearing them, says my legs and arse look fitter when I'm in them.

His whole hand is between my legs, grabbing me roughly by the pussy, taking all of it in his palm and squeezing me through my underwear, squeezing and pulling downwards and twisting.

"Your cunt is fucking soaking," he tells me. "So fucking wet you've soaked your knickers right through. Nasty little bitch. Thirsty little slut."

Cunt.

Bitch.

Horrible, insulting words used against women, used to put them down. Say them to me in any other circumstances and I'll explode with rage and indignation and fury, but right now, right here in this moment? Yes. Fucking. Please.

He grips the back of my underwear and pulls them hard up, forcing the material into my ass crack and my pussy slit, pulling it so hard the material compresses into a thin, sharp line that I can feel cutting into my most tender flesh.

I gasp in shock and pain. He's never done that before.

"That little slut cunt is so fucking hungry it's eating your knickers."

He laughs right into my ear, so loud that it hurts.

"Tell me," he says. "Tell me what you are and what you want."

"I'm a slut," I say, and then thinking it might not be enough, "I'm a dirty whore slut who needs fucked. A nasty slut who needs her cunt filled. Please. Please fuck my slut cunt."

"There she is," he says, his voice triumphant, as if he's made me say something I didn't want to, as if he's the one in control of this situation. "There she fucking is."

Men are so fucking easy.

For the first time he takes his mouth away from my ear, and I feel the flat of his hand on the centre of my back, holding me where I am while with his other hand he unbuckles his belt and unbuttons his trousers; two sounds that have always turned me on. If he had any imagination he would take his belt and wrap it around my throat, gripping hold of it like reins while he fucks me, controlling how much oxygen I can get into my lungs, reminding me how much more powerful than me he is.

But this one doesn't think that way. If I'm honest, this one doesn't really think much at all. What he lacks in creativity, he makes up for in enthusiasm and sheer, unadulterated, cockage.

As soon as it's out (9 inches, uncut, thick as the original cans of red bull) he's pushing it into me, trying to force it into finding a way past my underwear. He swears in frustration, grabs the front of my panties so tightly that he yanks on my pubic hair too for one agonising second, and tugs them down. I feel the sticky crotch of them peeling away from my hole. He only tugs them down to my mid thigh, and I can the stretched waistband digging into my skin.

As soon as my underwear is out of the way his hands are on my hips and his thick, meaty dick is spreading my cunt open as he rams it into me with zero preparation. Luckily I'm so wet that I take him with ease, feeling the head of him pop into me, quickly followed by the rest of that magnificent shaft, the first thrust so deep I feel his balls hitting against me.

And then he's taking me. Fucking me. Having me. Mating with me.

I'm a woman and he's a man and we're doing it like men and women have done it for tens of thousands of years.

Every thrust lifts me into my tiptoes. His fingers dig into my hips.

"Dirty. Little. Slut."

Every word accompanied by a thrust. Like he's punishing me with the words, and underlining it by abusing my cunt.

"Harder," I tell him. "Fuck that cunt harder."

And he does. Really fucking ramming it up me, showing no mercy. Using me. Using my cunt. Using my slut body. Using my dirty little whore hole.

"Harder, you fucking asshole. Fuck me like a fucking whooooooorrrre."

I'm shouting now, and I don't care. The words are deeper inside me than his cock will ever be. The words are me. I belong to them more than I will ever being to any man.

I am a whore.

I am a slut.

I am a nasty, filthy, dirty, fucking cunt on legs.

I am the words and they are me.

I focus on them, feel the power of them as I repeat them over and over in my mind, and I throw myself back onto him, needing it harder than any man will ever manage to give it to me.

"What am I?" I scream. "What fucking am I?"

"A whore," he grunts, pumping and fucking and splitting and spreading my cunt. "A slut. A fucking slut."

"More!"

I reach between my legs and rub my clit as hard and fast as I can, feeling cock moving inside me, strumming and fingering and pressing so fucking hard into my clit that it tries to escape my stroking, but I pin it and rub and rub and rub and

"Fucking more!!" I roar. "Use the fucking words!"

He's quickly losing the rhythm I need. I don't have long before he nuts in my hole, and I need to cum before that happens.

"You filthy dirty nasty cunt slut whore bitch cunt! Take this fucking dick in your cunt. Shut your whore fucking mouth and take it."

Shut your whore mouth and take it.

It's a new sentence. One I haven't used on myself before, and I fucking love it.

I'm the whore.

I rub my cunt harder.

I'm the whore and my job is to keep my mouth shut and let the man use my holes.

Shut my whore mouth.

Shut my dirty fucking whore mouth.

And fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck I'm cumming. So fucking hard. So fucking intense. My legs feel like they're going to collapse under me and he's holding my hips for grip but also holding me upright so that he can keep fucking my whore cunt. And I squeeze my eyes hard shut, squeeze my pussy round his throbbing dick, pinch my clit between thumb and forefinger and squeeze hard. And fuck it feels so fucking good.

"Whore. Slut. Whore. Slut." I don't need the words anymore, my orgasm is flowing and thundering and sweeping and washing into me and over me and through me and he could pop out of existence right now and it wouldn't change a fucking thing. But bless him for keeping going.

I'm aware of him cumming, but it's background interference and nothing more. Sometimes feeling them flood your cunt with their seed can add to the occasion. Fuck, sometimes feeling them pump that juice right into your body can be the occasion, but not this time. This time I've got what I wanted before he has. He's welcome to empty his balls into me, he deserves to, he's done exactly what I wanted him to.

The last, colourful, pretty waves of my orgasm ebb and flow into and out of my psyche, firing off whatever beautiful chemical reactions they create in my brain. The dying embers of the single greatest human experience; less and less powerful with each passing second.

Awareness floods back into me. I can feel his pubes pressed against my arse, rough and uncomfortable. My panties stretched round my thighs are burning in a way I don't like anymore. I'm drooling against the wall and know that I'll have to clean it off straight away or it might leave a watermark. I wonder if my neighbours heard anything.

He pulls out of me with a wet, crude, popping sound. I pull my panties up quickly, trying to catch his cum in them before it drips onto my floor.

I turn around and he's standing there, dick swaying slightly, dopey-man-who-just-cummed look on his face. A long, thin tendril of cum hangs from the tip of his dick. It crossed my mind to bend over and suck it off, just to stop it falling and landing on the floor, but even as I'm thinking it, it falls, and lands and splats.

Never mind. I'll mop tomorrow.

He opens his mouth to say something, but I put my finger over his lips.

"Be quiet as you leave, okay honey?"

He looks confused.

"But I thought we could-"

"No. Not tonight. Maybe another time. But you were great. Exactly what I needed, okay?"

I can feel his saliva drying on my cheek and my ear. I can feel his cum slipping out of my pussy. I want to get in the shower and wash him off of me. I want to drink wine and snuggle up on the sofa and watch a shit movie.

The words that I needed earlier are still in my head, but they're fading now, drifting off back to wherever they came from. I'm not ashamed of wanting to hear them, but for now I'm happy to tuck them away in that little box in my mind.

"Are you sh-"

"I'm sure, okay. I'll message you in a few days. I promise."

He looks a little bit sad as he reluctantly puts his once mighty cock away and buttons his trousers and buckles his belt.

As soon as he's done I usher him to the door, thinking that I'm pleased we didn't make it into the bedroom because now I don't have to change the bedding.

I try to gently push him right out the door, but he stops halfway through it and turns and smiles me.

"You know," he says, his voice full of attempted sexiness. "You really are the perfect little slu-"

"Sure thing, babe," I interrupt, before he can finish the word that I don't need anymore. "Now, be a good boy and fuck off."

He physically flinches and takes a stunned step back.

I push the door closed, the lock clicking into place.

The words have done their job. Now I need some silence, and to get these fucking heels off.