may i feel said he
(i’ll squeal said she
just once said he)
it’s fun said she
– Taken from a poem by E.E. Cummings
I forgot to put my phone on silent when I was at work yesterday. My morning was relatively quiet and it was while I was sitting around and waiting for something to happen that I got a message. Suddenly my message tone screamed out, a sound not usually heard in that context, and it was like a punch in the gut. Immediately, my mind whirred with possibility and memory, and I found myself squeezing my thighs together with anticipation as I reached for my phone.
It wasn’t the fact of receiving a message as such, as at that point it could have been from anyone, but the sound of the message tone itself that made my clit throb. It made me think of every sext, every filthy picture, every word ever sent to me that has made me want to push my hands immediately into my knickers.
It served as a particularly vivid reminder that my experience of sounds and noise goes way beyond simple communication. Of all of the senses, my visceral response to sounds can be so strong that it sometimes feels like my ears are connected directly to my cunt. Graphic memories can be reawakened by familiar smells, deliciously hot sights can make my heart beat faster and my stomach flip over, but the right sound will make me wet faster than I can register hearing it. I close my eyes and let the sounds flood into me. They fill me until I feel like I might burst, until I can barely hold it together, until my body is begging for more.
I don’t know why sounds cause such an instinctive and overwhelming response. I’ve wondered if it’s because my memories are mainly visual. I remember written words and pictures, even remembering conversations as written text, but not sounds. I know what something sounds like, but I remember the knowledge not the actual sound. I can imagine his voice or that gasp he makes when I run my tongue up his cock, but I can’t hear it. I can close my eyes and recall a thousand images, but every time I hear something, it’s like the first time. So every sound that turns me on will cut right through me and take my breath away every…single…time.
And there are a lot of sounds that leave me dizzy with desire.
Sometimes it’s as simple as anticipation. Then even stupid, insignificant noises can leave me winded with lust at their association. Feet on the stairs, keys turning in locks, zips being pulled open. I know what these sounds mean, and I am already panting at what is about to happen.
Sometimes all it takes is the right tone of voice. I have developed crushes on voices alone. Deep voices that make me tremble, or richer, more delicious tones that pour into me like melted chocolate. I listen, quivering inside and struggling to concentrate on what is being said because all I can think about is how much I want to hear that voice strained and husky with need, wondering how it will change to more inarticulate noises and what they’ll be like. The words spoken are almost irrelevant.
Oh, but the words aren’t really irrelevant. I am *awful* at it myself as I can’t seem to think and talk under pressure, but I love hearing filth spoken out loud. Whether dirty talk or erotica readings, hearing how the reader’s voice curves around the words gives them so much extra power. Compared to just reading, the images painted by these words are so much clearer, so much brighter. Honestly, discovering erotic audiobooks and podcasts have revolutionised my life, especially as once switched on, they’re essentially a hands-free activity!
And, of course, there are sex noises. Holy fuck, I love them. An appreciative grunt or involuntary moan will always hit straight into the pit of my stomach, stirring up and intensifying every other sensation until I am fizzing over. Perhaps unsurprisingly, I make a lot of noise. I laugh, I moan and groan, I can’t keep it in! The better it feels, the more I throb with lust-filled energy and it leaks out in gasps of delight, and I respond to other people’s noises in the same way.
The type or amount of noise doesn’t seem to matter though. I’ve fucked men who are essentially silent and men who are much more vocal, and both turn my insides to liquid. The constant validation of a noisy fuck is kind of incredible. When there’s an audible response to every touch, I just want to touch more and more to keep the powerful barrage of sounds coming over and over.
And the quiet ones are even better. Then I hang on every gasp and every whimper like it’s a precious gift. Each individual sound slides right into me and makes my heart stop. Oh my God, the guttural moan when I suck his cock deep into my throat, the sharp intake of breath when I touch somewhere sensitive…it destroys me every time. It makes me want to do again whatever made him make that wonderful sound so that I can hear it all over again.
So when I say that I like to watch him come, it’s not entirely true. Oh my gosh, it’s a sight that makes me shudder and quake, but I want to listen to him come much more. It’s the sounds that leave my thighs slick and my cunt aching to be filled because, damn, it’s just the most fantastic sound in the whole world…