a short response

Dear x,

You write to me of your “strong urges”. So what sort of strong urge do you have right now?

What do you do with such urges? Do you just forget about them, or do you have to do something to relieve the tension?

I think you have wicked, naughty thoughts that you can’t ignore.I like to think about you stroking your cock, getting harder. I like thinking about your new vibrator, in deep so that one end drives your ass wild, and the other end touches your balls.
Ah, but this week is too busy to meet, isn’t it? We’ll have to wait.

In the meanwhile, you can think wicked, brazen thoughts.  So, think of this:  tomorrow morning, when I would normally be working, I will go back upstairs and spread my legs wide open. My vibrator will take your place if you cannot be here. All night, I will be thinking about it, so when I get back into bed, I’ll need to relieve my strong urges, too.

When my clit is so sensitive, I really don’t need this intense a sensation, you know, even on the slow speed–it is so strong that I can’t really stand it for very long. It makes me come very fast. Too fast.

It makes me want more.

I want your face buried between my legs, your tongue, circling my clit. You drive me wild when you tease me that way, when you tie me down and bring me so close to climax, then leave me gasping, still wanting more. I want to push your face down, but instead my back arches to push against you.

How long would you make me wait for your cock to ram my hot pussy?

Would you keep me tied, or would you flip me over to spank me, then fuck my ass?

Let me know if you have any further thoughts on this subject.



let it snow

Looking out my window high above the streets, I watch the swirling white clouds of snow against the pink sky. It is a blizzard, they say, and my legs are still cold from walking in it earlier, my hair still wet on the edges not covered by my hat. I watch, watch, and think that somewhere I see you trudging down the sidewalk, your cap bobbing along as you make your way here, to my front door.

Yes, it is snowing still, still will be as the wind picks up and roars, and you are here now, here, your fingers cold as they grasp greedily at my hair, my face. I push you away now, want you to wait for better things.

I want to go back out into that raging storm with you, walking with you the two of us out in the state of emergency, walking down streets deserted and cold, and the warmth of you right there and yet unattainable, beside me like a candle’s worth of light and heat until we can come home and light a fire inside. It is the anticipation that is the most delicious, perhaps, the waiting and the smile, the postponement and the vague uncertainty of every moment that I cannot touch you.

I want you, yes. I feel you in every moment beneath warm covers on a winter morning. I feel your hands as I dreamily run my own hands down my body, down to satisfy the intense longing I feel in that slumberful daze of early day, my sheets wet with my own excitement as I grind into my fingers that tease, as you tease, that plunge in and move out, as you might, as you might following some sleepless night when you watch in the new light to see if perhaps my eyes might open, when you wait to move closer until you think I might want to wake up. I want you, in dreams, in daylight, your cock tense and ravenous for my touch, a sigh, and snow below, beyond, on a quiet December morning.

tomorrow morning

Your voice changes when I turn you on. Sometimes a growl, sometimes a lovely hum, it tells me immediately when you want me.

You want me.

It has been so long now.

I want you.

I remember the smooth freckled skin covering your taut body, your strength–my weakness to resist you. I like to resist you, though, and I like it when you win. I like to let you have me for whatever you like–and then to watch you surrender yourself, you lying back and urging me to climb on top of you, urging me to tell you all the filthy things I have been thinking and doing while you fuck me harder, still harder.

I remember, maintaining abstraction now in your absence so that my sanity remains intact. I remember, and still my imagination soars, to the infinite possibilities for experimenting still more, for expanding desire.


Hmm. Hmm.

Suddenly, life explodes.

Mesmerized by circumstances, I want to fuck. Badly.

And the universe responds to this by phone call, letter, suggestion, brush of the hand…

A hot tub. A bed. A couple–or two–looking for outside assistance. Will I?

Indeed. The mere suggestion is delightful, enough to excite me on an unusually warm November afternoon, the sun low, the nights soon ready to howl in winter’s approach.

Care to join me? There is always room for just one more…


You bought rope. I do not know your intentions with this rope, but I can only hope by your mention that you have elaborate schemes that you are creating in these moments. You leave me suspended with your last words. Where are you, my sweet wicked one? Are you practicing your knots so that I will not escape when you are ready to take me? Are you contemplating the meaning of this restraint, the idea that I trust you now enough to tie me to my bed so that you can do as you like with me?

I can only hope now, wait for your words full of longing and lust. I want you, want to please you as you unwind your rope, take me over and fuck me, fuck my mind.

I wait.


Run your fingers along the smooth edges, the lacy edges, the wet edges, underneath the silk.

Gifts are marvelous things, and I have been given a cool one hundred to spend on lingerie. It is an indulgence, to be sure… But no–a necessity. I never realized how much I needed this.

The world disappears when I let go of it and evaporate into the formlessness of the desire you ignite, let burn, smolder, and finally… torturously, slowly… extinguish.

So, on Friday I dress for the occasion. But what shall it be?

What is your favorite color? What do you like? What moves you, kindles your passion, makes your cock twitch at the sight of it? What makes you want to throw me down to the bed and rip my precious panties off?

Wednesday, I consider this, note your wishes, your dreams, my dreams.

Thursday I shop. Dressing becomes part of the ritual, a delight in itself.

Friday, we meet, again, and you may undress me in whatever manner suits you. Surprise me.

Friday, we explore one another until Friday disappears.


Fuck me.

You are filthy, tempting me with your words,  your deep voice teasing me with a plethora of sensations I am now only imagining. I could masturbate, but it does not satisfy.  When my hand reaches down between my legs, my clitoris jumps, ready. My cunt throbs. This only heightens my need for your cock inside me for the first time.  I want for you to growl as you push in, feel my hot cunt grab you. You push me face down onto the bed and pull down my panties, loosen your belt, take me, hard. And then stop. We undress one another, and discover one another, imagining the limits we want to push as we continue.

I know your cock is stiff now as you read this. You know that perhaps others are reading, knowing that somewhere, tomorrow, we will be in a bed stifling screams–or not–letting loose passions that have been building since we last met, since we first met.

This is only a beginning.