The MeltingbyLalenya Love©
How can I write this without melting further? As it is, thinking of you makes the very core of me feel like a churning mass of magma, a volcano ready to erupt. When we communicate via e-mail or phone, you are eager to see my writings, but when you ask when I will submit, I wonder whether you mean submit my stories or submit myself completely to your lustful advances. Perhaps you mean both. At any rate, let this letter help to bridge the miles between us until we are together again and I have the luxury of melting into your arms in such a way as I have never done before.
Do you remember when we met? We liked each other instantly. I gravitated toward your welcoming smile and the warm mocha twinkle in your eyes, but it took a while for me to really get to know the man behind the teddy-bear facade. It took a while for me to comprehend that beneath your avuncular exterior lurked a mind as impishly salacious as my own.
The last time I saw you, you devoured me voraciously with your smoldering brown eyes as though I were a fondue that you wanted to savor. It was as though you could see the meltingness deep inside me and you wanted to dip yourself into me to feel it and to taste it. The last time I saw you was the morning after the night we kissed -- the morning after the melting truly began.
My husband and I were staying with you, and you had cooked a delicious dinner. The before-dinner margarita, the fine wine you served with dinner, and the champagne with which you enticed me afterward loosened my inhibitions as we sat together on your couch. My husband -- noticing the increasingly unsubtle flirtation between you and me, and perhaps (or so I thought at the time, in the vague sort of way of one who has imbibed too much to be feeling any pain)feeling a bit left out -- soon pled exhaustion and retired to bed.
Then, like a magnet finds metal, your lips found mine. By the time I realized that my own lips had yielded and your tongue was exploring my mouth, it felt so good that I couldn't bring myself to tell you to stop. As your soft lips and gently probing tongue continued their caresses, I began to kiss back. I began to lose track of where I ended and you began. I began melting into you.
The next thing I remember was your saying, "We'd better go to bed." We stood, and as you gathered me to you and kissed me goodnight, I thought I heard you murmur, "I'd do anything in this world for you." Oh, yes, the melting had begun!
It was over a week later when I confessed our kisses to my husband. I had hesitated to tell him because I thought he might feel hurt. I thought perhaps he'd be angry and resent the way I'd let our mouths melt together. I thought maybe he'd caution me to moderate my alcohol intake. To my surprise, he seemed to approve.
Now I can't wait to see you again. There's a molten wetness between my thighs that comes on when I think of your kisses, when I imagine what else you can do with those tender lips and that talented tongue.
Sometimes when my husband is at work, you and I lie in our respective beds and let the telephone carry our voices across the several state lines that separate us. As we talk, my nipples harden, and I melt even more when you tell me what you want to do to me. My panties are soaked through, and I wish you were here to feel how hot and wet I am. You tell me how hard I'm making you; how you want to kiss me in all my crevices and taste every molten drop of my nectar; how you want to drive your cock deep into my magma core, fucking me over and over and over again. As we talk, we touch ourselves, slowly at first and then faster, building to a bubbling and boiling crescendo of passion. Then the eruption begins: as you start to come, so do I, calling out your name -- until I burst from being filled with so much pleasure -- until I overflow and melt, trembling, into your arms. We bask for a moment in a snuggly afterglow -- a virtual hug across the miles.
Did I mention that I look forward to seeing you again?
Love, warm cuddles, and passionate kisses,