in which I imagine you, lusting for me

You were leaning over looking up from some sort of work, your muscular arms braced firmly on the desk, that very clever look on your face. You looked in command of the situation, and seeing you there like that made me want to come up behind you and reach around to unbelt you, to unzip you, to yank down your briefs–carefully, because by the time I got to that, even quickly, your cock would be pressing hard against the fabric, immediately reacting to my brazen interruption. You would not need to run your fingers beneath the lace to know my panties are drenching. You would look back at me and grin, then start to straighten and reach for me, to pin me to the wall and hold my wrists while you kiss my neck and tease me. You would turn back, then push me toward the stairs. But no. I would put my hands over yours on the desk and tell you to stay. Just like that.

But not just like that: I would kick your feet apart a bit then, as you lean now against my dining room table. The windows are open, and you are completely exposed to the ladies who walk by to their appointments next door, if they have the sense to catch a glimpse of your lovely cock through my window. The trees and bushes most likely distract their glances, but maybe they saw you come into my house. Maybe they wish they could have you, too.

Your cock is hard, but it does not interest me now. I click open the bottle of lube and use enough to worry you–enough to grease your secret hot hole, for me to coat my fingers in it, to run my fingers around the tight rim and enter you as you breathe in. Oh yeah. Oh you like it, I know. You love it. You love the feeling of my finger slipping in and out of you, first one, two, the forbidden exquisite pleasure of me fucking your ass, just like that. Your nerves swell,  electric, I follow them, pressing hard, making you moan. I love this.

Little beads form on the tip of your cock. I have pulled my fingers out, your ass still open and gorgeous and succulent, my tongue incapable of resisting you, yes I lick, yes I love to drop to my knees in worship of all that remains obscene in your mind. I push you farther, and know you ache still for more.

I imagine you alone, thinking of this, of me.

I imagine you in a moment when your mind clears of the day, and night comes, or in the morning, the quiet. You think of me here, of yourself leaned over my table and cursing as I open you still wider, as I devour you, let your darkness find the light, as I lube you once more and lube the dildo that is far longer and far thicker than even two of my fingers, as I push it gently into you, then stop. As I push it in farther, then stop. As I push it in to its tip, and then stop. Then pull it out nearly all the way, and push it back all the way. I imagine you fucking yourself with it, just like that.

What do you do when you are alone? Do you shudder still as much as you push the cock into your delicious ass? More, because you do it selfishly, just the way that feels perfect to you?

Do you pull it in and out from the back, fucking yourself hard as you lean over just as you do now?

Or do you recline as I do in a bed with the pillows propped up, your legs spread wide, your ass all open and exposed like my cunt as you reach between your legs and fuck yourself? Do you watch your come-heavy balls tighten as your full ass quivers, as your cock fills and stiffens even more? As you know that even one soft stroke will set off a pearly white fountain of lust?

Do you let yourself come like that? Or do you let yourself calm with the dildo still and deep? Do you let the pleasure wash over yourself slowly, so that when you do stroke your cock, you can control it? Can you imagine still your sweaty palms now all lubed up, too, imagine the narrow slick tube your hand makes into my pussy, now so tight and hot and wet imagining you?

Do you close your eyes and think of the way my breath changes as you push me to climax? Do you dream of this as your own moans escape? Do you try hard to hold back? do you stop to breathe, to squeeze gently, to postpone your excitement just a little? do you prolong the intensity of the fuck, as you do with me? Do you let yourself ache then with  need? with the need to let your cock push to the very end of my cunt one last luxurious time? Do you think of my cry, my incendiary frenzy, my ripe swollen breasts, my lava laden cunt that you at last spill into, the whole of you copious and thick and flowing out of you deep into me, your ass full and deep, your heart full and pounding?

I think of your sweat slick body, you lying on a bed with one hand caressing the end of your cock, with the other firmly grasping the base, with your back arched to keep your biggest dildo from slipping out even a little. I think of you all alone and full of grinding lust. I think of your head turned hard to one side, of your heels dug into the mattress, your rough voice, your breathing, your hands sticky with come.

I think of you, later, dressed and recovered, your cock relieved and resting, your walk reminding you of your ass still slick and open now as you move on with the ordinary, your lust satisfied but not completely.

2 thoughts on “in which I imagine you, lusting for me

  1. Vida says:

    Perfect. There needs to be more of this.

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