hot water

I sucked your balls hard today, much harder than I might have if I didn’t know you so well, didn’t hear you moan when I did it, didn’t feel your orgasm near as I pushed my finger a little deeper into your ass. Your pearly come is in my hair now, hours later, and I do not want to wash it out, even if I do have hot water now. Each time I look in the mirror and see the sticky white, I find my cunt burning, throbbing, wanting you to force my legs wide open and fuck me again.

It was all about a water tank, supposedly. Much ado about a water tank for all these days, and perhaps it is not broken. It seems fine, and you seem fine, and you put me at ease again–so kind you are–and you light it again, and I have hot water. But you do light my fire, too, you know. You ignite me, fan the flames as you slap my ass hard, harder, tell me how naughty I have been. Have I been naughty? I am surprised how much I missed your hand there, stinging me more with each blow. I want you to hurt me a little, push me hard down onto the bed and fuck me roughly, roughly. You fuck hard, rough, then gently, and I find myself as always with you, riding the waves of orgasm after orgasm. I want you right now. I want you now, and again. I want you just you and you with other people and you outside and you all night long, fucking until we fall exhausted and wake to fuck again.

But I don’t have to take a cold shower.

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