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We were all disgusted to hear moldy kumquat Donald Trump and his predatory Stiffler, Billy Bush, laugh about using their D-list star power to assault and objectify women. You were especially bothered if, when you are in the throes of passion with your lovah, you often whisper, “Grab me by the pussy!”
I refuse to let Donald Trump ruin the dirty talk. He may stalk. He may hover. He may loom. But he cannot have my pussy, the word or the anatomy.
We need a movement. Dirty Talk Against Trump! We refuse to let a misogynistic racist skid mark ruin what we love: verbose seksy times.
“Grab my pussy” could be super hot if said in the right context. That context never involves Trump. Just ask Melania or Marla.
If the pussy grabs back at the ballot box on November 8th, the pussy can grab back in the bedroom tonight. And if you don’t feel like doing it or you can’t find a willing partner, let our favorite Romance authors do the grabbing for you.
Here are some of That’s Normal’s favorite literary love scenes. The best part? They all involve consenting adults. Consent is sexy.
“Let me explain what I mean by ‘talk.’”
His hands moved up my legs, spreading them wide. Cool as can be, he lay flat on his stomach, face level with my sex.
“I’m not talking to you,” he said, fingers gently folding back the lips of my sex.
“No. You had your chance to communicate with me and you chose not to. You let this relationship down. Feel bad, Anne.”
His breath tickled my still-sensitive pussy. It made feeling bad damn hard, frankly. Impossible when he flicked my clit with the tip of his tongue. My hips shot off the mattress but his hands were there, holding me down.
“Hello, Anne’s clitoris. It’s me, Malcolm, your lord and master.”
“Oh, god, no.” I covered my face with my hands. “Please don’t.”
“Shh. This is a private conversation.”
He brushed hot, feverish kisses up and down the lips of my sex. My stomach tensed so hard it hurt.
“Look at you all pretty, pink, and excited. Don’t worry, I’ll look after you. You’re beautiful, Anne’s pussy. Just beautiful. And I’m not mean like her. I’m on your side and I love you very much because you feel fucking amazing wrapped around my dick.”
“Malcolm, I mean it. You’re ruining oral sex for me forever. Cut it out.”
“Bullshit. You’re dripping wet. We’ll never get these sheets clean.”
“Oh, god.” My back bowed as he dragged his tongue up the center of me, finishing with a flourish at the top. I saw stars. “Too much.”
“Not even close.”
“Jamie! Not here!” I said, squirming away and pushing my skirt down again.
“Are ye tired, Sassenach?” he asked with concern. “Dinna worry, I won’t take long.” Now both hands were at it, rucking the heavy fabric up in the front.
“No!” I replied, all too mindful of the twenty men lying a few feet away. “I’m not tired, it’s just —” U gasped as his groping hand found its way between my legs.
“Lord,” he said softly. “It’s slippery as a waterweed.”Source
“It would make my cock hard to hear you say my name.”
My eyes pop open. “Jericho Barrons,” I say sweetly.
He makes a pained sound. “Bloody hell, woman, I think a part of me wants to keep you this way.”
I touch his face. “I like how I am. I like how you are too. When you are…What is the word you used? Cooperating.”
“Tell me to fuck you.”
I smile and comply. We’re back in territory I understand.
“You didn’t say my name. Say my name when you tell me to fuck you.”
“Fuck me, Jericho Barrons.”
He hadn’t imagined it like this. He knew Laurent’s mouth, knew its vicious capability. He knew it as Laurent’s primary weapon. In his daily life, Laurent held his lips taut, repressing their lush shape into a hard line, his mouth cruel curves. Damen had seen Laurent eviscerate people with that mouth. Now Laurent’s lips were given over to pleasure, his words traded for Damen’s cock. He was going to come in Laurent’s mouth. That single, stunning realisation arrived a moment before Laurent went down in earnest, a long, practised slide. Heat hit, a burst of it, and Damen came in a rush before he could stop himself, too soon, overwhelmed, flooded.
“Circles, I think,” he muses. “Just around and around and around so steady and gentle until you’re soaking wet with legs spread wide and you’re clawing at the sheets, begging to come on my lips. I’d want you begging for my mouth every time we’re alone.”
He looks up at me.
“And I’d give it to you, Lola,” he says quietly, earnestly. “I would suck the pleasure straight out of you; I wouldn’t toy with you. If I could get you there I would, whenever you want it.” He slides his tongue along my index finger to the tip. “I want to be so good you never let me go.”
She closed her eyes in embarrassment, biting her lower lip.
“Are you aching for me here?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
“Poor, sweet love.” His words were liquid fire against her ear as he slipped one arm of her jacket off and pushed aside her croissard, gaining access to the buttons of her breeches. Sliding a warm hand inside the fabric, he coaxed another sigh from her as he met the soft down of her sex. Parting the slick folds there, one finger pushed inside the heat. “Here?”
She gasped, grasping his forearm with her hand.
He growled low in his throat as he watched her attempt to understand the feelings coursing through her. When he spoke, his voice was rough with his own response. “I think you want more than that.”
His fingers began to move against her as he set his mouth to the straining tip of one breast, and Callie lost the ability to think.
He set his lips to her ear, whipsering, “Let go, my lovely…”
He moved without thinking, grabbing her hips, arching, turning. She lay flat on her back and he rose over her, having kept his place even as she repositioned them.
He braced his hands on either side of her startled face and smiled — thought it near killed him to do so. “Watch.”
Her gaze went to where they were joined, and he felt himself flex within her. Slowly, he withdrew, each inch a blissful agony, until only his head was still lodged within her. Then he reversed and slowly, deliberately, thrust back into her, all the way, until his hips met hers firmly.
He leaned down, his mouth less than an inch from hers. Sweet. Tempting. And whispered, “Good?”
“Oh, God, Winter,” she moaned, her blue eyes dazed with arousal, “do that again.”
The climax of this piece is to remind you to VOTE on November 8th. If there is a long line at your polling place, take a book. Take a naughty book because when you pull the lever or circle the name, you will feel like this:
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