Muscles, big muscles, muscles with tattoos, muscles that ripple as they flex, muscles that glisten as they ‘pump’.
There is nothing unattractive about a muscular man. Some people like lean and muscular, others like big and muscular, and quite a few like hairy and muscular. But he has to be muscular and confident.
Muscles are equivocal to strength and power: two things that I feel incredibly attracted to. Strength and power lead to confidence and dominance.
Power is sexy.
Taste it, lick it, and bite it, as if it were a thing I could devour.
There are times when I am consumed by a hunger for it.
Power is a thing I must submit to.
The power of submission is an all-consuming obsession.
I no longer have to be in charge or make all the decisions.
To simply be, enjoy his power, see him take control.
Wrists are often bound to the bedposts, why? That simple act takes away any notion that I have to do anything for him, other than relax, enjoy and submit.
And his muscles? To see his arms flex, as his fingers and hands work my hole, taking away a lifetime of tension. And when it is time to fill me with his fist, my heightened senses take it all in.
The sight of another man: strong, lean, powerful, aggressive and fucking my ass with aggressive intent will often awaken my own aggression. Men who submit have fire and aggression. Those binds on my wrists are always tight. There is no way I’m going to get free. Why do I want to be free? So that my body could fuck him back and swallow him whole.
But he is in control; I can’t get free and am utterly at his mercy.
And for those moments, I am utterly happy.