Catchy title, right? I often browse through recommended titles on my Kindle and find interesting ditties. I’m always up for advice, especially when it comes to landing a mate. You never know when someone will come up with a fresh idea for hooking a mate and keeping her on the hook (instead of sneaking around hooking up with that young bartender with abs … I hate him … high-haired bastard).
When I saw a title about making my woman scream, the first thing that came to mind was: Simple. Throw a spider at her. The second thing that came to mind was the realization that the author was specifically referring to screaming with joy. Ah, buy her a Bullet Blender! Off target again. Yes, I know. How to make her scream with joy while bringing her to orgasm.
You got me.
Actually, I would prefer my woman to whisper her appreciation. Screaming and squirting is really unnecessary—it scares the cats and neighbors.
It’s silly to write a book about this because women are distinct. Some are more sensitive. I’ve had a few begin carrying on before I even got the jeans to their knees. I’ve had others plank on me. (“Play dead,” should only be applied to bear attacks, my dears.)
Like with other physical activities, frequent use can cause insensitivity. I’m not saying I’ve encountered clit callouses, but by the third time through the alphabet, my tongue begins to fall asleep.
Had one fuckbuddy who insisted the only way she could have an orgasm is to take it in the dumper while holding a jackhammer-strength vibe on her love bean. Even then, she warned, it was no guarantee. She’s a keeper.
Others require other external stimulation, such as porn. I realize the scream is germinated in the mind as a thought. That thought could be a fantasy or memory. I can’t control the memory part. Heck, if she needs to recall how Jonah pounded her sore, freshman year, that’s cool with me. Men need to learn to appreciate prior lovers for molding the beast about to be ridden.
The best way I’ve found to plant the scream seed is by telling her what I’m going to do to her (minus the spider) before doing it. Anticipation tends to get the damsels dewy. That mental preview should include the promise of oral treats—sure to strengthen the fountains of love.
“So, tonight, when you get home, I want you to take a long bath, then go straight to bed, completely naked. I’m coming home with an assortment of adult toys, lubricants, and a strong desire to lick you like a rocket pop until you are swimming in a puddle of your love nectar. You will have three to five orgasms tonight. Plan on it. I will give you ten minute breaks between deliveries, so you can pee and check your phone. By midnight, I want your legs so rubbery, and your mind so blown, that you won’t be able to make it through tomorrow’s workday without rubbing one out while reminiscing about how Big Daddy flew you to planet Orgasmodia.”
Did you just scream? Oh, go ahead. Open a window and wail away. Please? Come on. Do it.
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