You Wanna Know

I want you to know what you do to me... this fantasy I keep in my head...

To start, you're an accident. I don't know where you came from, but there you were, suddenly, a dark, electric heat invading my world.

I can't think of you without writhing a little, grinding down into my chair, biting my lip, as my eyes drift half-closed with desire.

How you do it, I don't know. It's the combination of your cockiness, your confidence, and your machismo. Fuckin' boy from Jersey... got me wrapped around your cock and I don't wanna let go...

I wonder, when I read your work, if I've crossed your mind when you write it. God knows - or perhaps I should be calling on Lucifer - that you've distinctly played a role in my erotica lately...

I read your words and imagine us, in all those dirty, gut-clenching positions.

I read your work and my hand slides down into my panties (if I'm wearing any) so I can play with my little erect clit. My hands are freezing cold and I love the shock against my hot centre. I flick the hood protecting that tiny nerve, awakening it to play, thinking of your lips stretched in a challenging grin as you watch me fuck myself for you...

Writing this for you, this description of what I go through, my nipples have firmed, the rosy peaks standing tall against my white flesh. Northern girls - especially fair ones - don't tan worth a shit, you know. Sun doesn't kiss my breasts, doesn't lick at my nipples as I imagine your mouth will. Here I am writhing again, silently begging you to come and bury your cock in my needy cunt. I'm rubbing my clit against the seam in my comfortable pajama bottoms, desperately wishing I was sliding, rubbing, thrusting against your turgid length.

I can't stand it anymore, and raise my t-shirt, jacked above my breasts like some B-rated porn movie. My exposed nipples beg for a touch... preferably yours, but mine will have to do tonight. I can smell myself on my fingers, as they pluck and pull at the rosy crests.

Christ, that didn't take much... I dip a finger between my smooth, shaven lips, and discover (once again) that you've got me wet. Imagining the look on your face as you watch, I spread the wetness over my nipples, flicking and rubbing it in, as I'd love to do with your hot cum. Goosebumps trail across my tits and down my arms. My legs are spread, and it's getting goddamned hard to type with two hands when I'd so much rather have one buried between my legs.Soon enough...

I had to pull over today when you called me, your hot, deep voice echoing in my ear. Wait, I've just zoned out here, my fingers burrowing down my pj bottoms again, rubbing the wetness over my clit and thinking about our conversation. The mundane questions that we discussed - did you get any work done, did I? Who wants who more and when can we get together...

I wait to hear it, the drop in your voice as you tell me what you really want... Then I know I'm so goddamned deep in trouble because you make me fucking crazy for you.

"I'm gonna wrap my fingers in your hair and rub my finger on your lips, stroke the knob of my cock on your mouth, push it in, grab your head while I fuck your face..."

and all I can think isChrist Almightynowwouldn'tbesoonenough...

You tell me you can't decide how you want to fuck me first, and I feel a little thrill that it's notif, buthow that's the question. Doesn't matter what you think, though, because I've already made up my mind. I play with my nipples, but my fingers are warming up now from my constant voyages to my smouldering pussy, and I have to pinch harder to get that burst of pleasure.

Wait, where was I? Oh yeah. All the way up in the elevator, or as we walk down the hallway, or in a dark corner on the way to our room, we're going to kiss, so hard and so hot that my panties (if I'm wearing any) will be soaked through. I'm going to have my hands on your belt as you try to stick the plastic card in the door to give us some privacy. You might even have to pull me back to my feet if it takes you too long, because in my mind, I can feel that thick, pulsing bulge between your thighs...

You may think that I'm getting undressed or that you're running the show, but fuck, baby, I'm in charge until I get your fucking cock in my mouth. Mmm, hang on, I've gone back to that pic you sent me. You know the one I mean, and it isn't you in your office, your brooding look slamming through the camera.

Oh God. I'm staring at your cock, at your hand on your cock. I have a thing for hands, and for cocks. And here I get the whole show in one. I imagine the size of your hand and use it to measure that sturdy fuck-pole that you're holding up for me, and I picture parting my lips for you and sliding so slowly...Christ you're thick...down onto you.

Wait, what?

Oh, no. First I wanna suck you off. I want your cock in my mouth, my face buried as close as possible to your pelvis. Fuck the bed, you can lean against the fucking hotel wall and tell me - as you already have several times - how you want me to suck you off. You'll tell me how you want to make me cum (and I'll think to myself that it's not easy for me to cum, and that's why I enjoy hearing your unrestrained pleasure so much). You'll tell me about biting my nipples, and I'll counter with thoughts of drawing blood from your shoulders. You'll tell me about bending me over the bathroom counter, and I'll think about how we'll fuck on the floor at the end of the bed, my ass shaking as you root into me from behind. Your cock will thicken and lengthen, and I'll moan with sweet pleasure when your hands knot in my hair.

I'll use my hands to jack you off into my mouth. I imagine eating you like a starving woman, slurping and sucking loudly, like there's nothing in the world I want more right now than your dick pressed against my throat. . . . and there isn't anything I want more...

My nipples are peaking again, and I'm so fucking turned on by you and your words that I have got to cum.

You wanted to know what I think about... that's it. That's what I think about when I think about you.