Lustful Thoughts In Manhattan

I see you often on 40th and 5th avenue near the library. Tight jeans. Dark sweater, black scarf and gloves. You are tall and shapely. Dark hair eyes and skin.

You walk with a purpose and know what you want. I can't help but follow you and hope that you look back coyly, knowing I am watching you, noting how your body moves and hips sway to your beat.

I've seen you also with your lover (i presume), waiting for a taxi. You and he seem disconnected, sad and lonely together, and I want to show him what he is missing. I can only go home, watch craigslist missed connections and wonder if you really want to go home with this guy.

I relieve myself nightly and think of you, undressed and beside me. I want to lick your every corner and crevice until you shudder and melt. I want to lick your lips and suck on your neck, ears, and thighs. I want to massage you with vibrating machines and tell you about my lust first hand. Your ass is so delectable and tight at once. I want to lick it from behind and chew softly on your flesh. I want to you come on my face and wiggle against my teeth and tongue. I can nearly taste your pussy now. Is it shaved? Neatly trimmed? I want to push my tongue through the fold and twirl it, thrust it, tickle you, please you.

Once you are wet, you beg me to take you hard and fast, but I want to enjoy you for hours and know I would come so quickly because of the days of accumulated lust.

Thinking of this today, I stroke myself faster and apply lotion to smooth away the friction. I startle myself with my own moans and think how I don't even know your name. I want to see every piece of you and do not even know if you speak my language, or if I would be your type. Your guy is fashionably dressed, medium build, dark haired, I'm dirty blonde, casually dressed, and tall.

Day after day, I imagine taking you, fucking you deeply in long and deliberately intense strokes. We make eye contact and smile with enjoyment. You look at the mirror and see my ass moving with each stroke. You pull me into you and caress my body as I feel every inch of your insides, your insides squeezing me back. Once I come for the first time we laugh at how nervous we both are. Immediately you suck me back to life. Tasting your own wetness on my cock. You play with my balls and massage my nether regions. Tease me with your finger and chew on my parts.

I'm ready again and take you from behind, two pillows beneath your ass for delicious view and the best angle. I massage your cheeks and spank you a little, more for sound than for pain. You reach beneath us and take my balls in your hands. You pull and tug harder than you know and keep me from coming and I thank you. You counter with dirty talk, "come on and fuck me," you say. "don't stop!"

I pound you for a long time while we sweat and moan, I can feel the end of you and your wetness envelopes me, runs down your legs and mine.

This time it is I who looks in the mirror and watches your ass moving to our rhythm. I smack it hard once and you squeal with delight. More, harder, faster, you call out and come. I continue a few minutes more and you come again. I cannot take this and come deep inside of you. I reach down to kiss your ass, worship you, lick your ass and even your freshly fucked pussy. My lust knows no end. I spend minutes licking your breasts and then your lips.

I turn on a vibrator and use it to tease your skin. Your stomach and chest and down to your wetness. I want to make you come a third time while I watch you. I kiss you and you squirm, the vibrator so intense after our orgasms. Eventually you get used to it, and soon fall back into a rhythm. I move down to flick your clit with my tongue while moving the vibrator inside you want me again and turn so you can suck on my spent cock. Miraculously, it comes back to attention quickly and we laugh. Here we go again, we 69 for a long time, sucking and massaging, cramping from the position our lust has taken us. It is time now to be inside you . . . But I look down at my hand on my cock, my jeans at my ankles, my computer monitor in front of me, and come dripping through my fingers and onto the chair . . . . I will look for you again tomorrow.