Do you ever let your thoughts stray to me? In the daytime, when you find yourself alone and your mind unoccupied? In the nighttime, when the soft shadows fall across your bed, across your languid, supine form?
Are there nights when I slip into dreams that have no business being?
Confess: are you tempted to caress yourself in those moments – public, private – when I find a way to invade your thoughts? Do you ever yield to that temptation?
What are you wearing right now? Tell me
In my mind, it’s something black, lacy, feminine. You always look delectable in the decadent rays of my imagination. Wicked and wanton. A gloriously mouth-watering creation lifted from the pages of Chandler, Spillane, Hammett. A salicious siren, whose song no man can resist.
When I’m there with you, whether it’s in a quiet office or a secluded bedroom, do I possess the power to make you yearn? Does my phantom’s presence leave you aching to be touched, to be consumed, to be filled? Have I dampened your panties with unrequited lust at so vast a distance?
Tell me: are they damp now? Press them against yourself, then. Tease yourself through them. Thrill to the sensation of the soft fabric rubbing against your sex.
I want those panties, just as they are now. Damp from being pressed against your cunt; fragrant from your arousal.
Would you like me to lick them, now, while you’re still wearing them? To lick you through them, to taste you through them? To feel my lips against yours, separated by only a few millimetres of fabric? And once they are sodden and can contain no more of your lust, to have me hook my fingers beneath the edge of one leg and draw them aside, revealing your cunt to my gaze … feeling my warm breath on your bared sex, knowing that I can see every last secret?
And then to feel my mouth on you, my tongue in you. Tasting you. Drinking you.
I think you’d like that. I think that you’d push back against my mouth, that you’d gasp and moan and cry out, over and over, as my mouth explored you, as I pressed my thumb against your anus, as I licked your clitoris, as I fucked your cunt with my tongue.
I want to do that.
Oh, to have your juices flooding my nose and mouth. To be afforded the chance to explore every last nerve ending you possess.
And what do you want? To feel me stroke the backs of your thighs with my fingertips as I lift your legs into the air, exposing you so utterly? To feel the tip of my tongue tracing a teasing path around the edges of your plump sex? To feel my thumb brushing your clit as my fingers sink inside you, as my tongue dances over the forbidden tightness of your rosebud?
Do you dream of me making your nerves jangle in that way?
Are you aroused now? Are you wet? Do you ache to be fucked, to take my cock deep inside you?
I need that. To be within your flesh. To feel how wonderfully wet you are, to have you sheath my cock in the liquidity of your lust. To have you tell me what you want to feel, what you need to feel. To hear how badly you want to come, that you have to come or you’ll go mad.
I so want to fuck you. To press your nakedness back against the warmth of an immense bed, to hold your wrists above your head and trap them against the mattress, to open you with my free hand and guide my cock between your labia, and then thrust it slowly but powerfully inside you. To tell you to open your thighs wider, to allow me further inside you. To tell you to lift your legs, to wrap your thighs around me, to bind me to you, to draw me deeper inside you, until there’s nowhere left for me to go.
I want you to tell me everything you need, even if you don’t utter a single word.
So tell me one last thing: where are your thoughts now?