Straddle

You're the centre of many of my day dreams, admittedly. The scenarios that I conjure up. That could happen. That may happen. Will happen? Many are vanilla, cute and PG. Romanticised even. At the opposite end of the spectrum, are those lustful dirty thoughts that make my jaw clench and toes curl. I plead with myself not to sometimes. People say that once you put something out into the universe, it has the opportunity of occuring. Manifesting they call it. If any of those daydreams have a chance of happening, I'm not so sure I have the will to stop them if they do. I know exactly what I'm like. My self control is limited at the best of times; and with you? God, it may have gone completely. If I can't even stop my mind from wandering there, then what hope do I have in person?

For instance, how can I stop myself from kneeling at your feet like a good girl and begging for you to unbutton your pants for me? To stop myself from imagining your almost inaudible mumbles as I wrap my fingers, one by one, around your throbbing cock for the first time? For your desperate eyes to look down at mine as I bring my lips everywhere except for where you want them. You rest three fingers under my chin, your thumb against my cheek, trying to guide my mouth to where you most desire it. Nah babe. I may act coy but I know how to play this game. You can fuck my throat soon enough, but I'm going to relish in watching you squirm and swear under your breath until we get there.

Oh god. This is what I mean. I've just proved my point. I've started on a ramble that I now don't want to stop. But I will. And the only reason being is that that particular scenario has its own piece being written, and I don't want to spoil that one for you.

Before my thoughts overtook me, I was trying to explain how I try to only give into one indulgence. One filthy scenario that I allow myself to sit in. To dwell on. Before I tell you which one, I'll tell you why I like it. Well, because I know how I'll react. Quite bold and ridiculous of me to say so confidently when I sit here, hands shaking as I type this. I feel the cold sweats start again. Just like the other day, remember? Unsure if I'm excited, or terrified. Maybe both. But in this scenario, I feel like I have some control.

Don't get me wrong, I'm no domme. Bratty? Maybe. A tease? Definitely. I'll trace my fingertips along the inside of your thighs, up your hips and across your stomach as your hips buck slightly in the hopes that my fingers end up on your cock. I know I shouldnt tease you like this, because ultimately I know you're going to eventually take the reins again and get me back ten times harder. The thought of you relishing in me as your little play thing does make me squeeze my thighs together just a little tighter.

The scenario that goes through my head when I wake up before my alarm, when I'm mindlessly putting petrol in my car, or elbow deep in the sink washing dishes is a straddle. You know, you sitting down, me sitting on your lap facing you... I know what you're thinking. Of all the bloody options in the world, that's what she wants? Yes. I know it's not the most obvious thing I could have chosen, but when I think about it I feel the edges of my lips curl up into a knowing smile and grow conscious of the wet mess that's forming in my underwear.

Sitting in your lap on your couch is innocent enough though, surely? We're finally here. We're relaxed. And all I want is to just be closer to you. You're sitting there with your legs spread, your arm up resting along the back of the couch. Me curled up beside you, nestled into the crook of your arm with my hand resting on your leg. While the tension builds for as long as possible, it only takes a sly look at each other before we're kissing. I taste your last Jack on your mouth as I arch my body closer to yours. Your hand falls from the couch, grazing along the curve of my arse.

My once resting fingers on your leg inconspicuously begin to move further up your thigh. It becomes clear that the positions we elected on the couch for watching a movie are quickly becoming insufficient. Despite the risk of seeming too eager, I get to my knees and in one smooth move, hitch my leg over you to straddle your body. My knees sit either side of you, my toes resting on each of your knees. I wrap my arms around your neck, fingers running along your nape as I eagerly seek another taste of the Jack.

Your arms wrap around my waist as I get myself comfortable, the strength in your arms grinding me down onto your cock. My knees on either side of your body, shudder. The tops of my feet resting on your knees, flex. But you probably wouldn't notice any of it, would you. The same way that I have been touching and poking and prodding you up until now, perhaps annoyingly so, in the hope that you'll touch me back. My internal screams of 'for fucks sake, put a hand on me' unsurprisingly, not being heard. Never gone for long are the thoughts that maybe you're just. Not. Interested.

Or maybe you have noticed my signs, but you're caught up in a messy mix of being terrified and excited like I am. Maybe it's the mixed signals I've given that make it all too difficult for you to decipher. It's so easy to tell you how much I want to wrap my legs around your neck as your tongue laps at my wet pussy, or how much I want my drool dripping off my chin as your cock routinely grazes the back of my throat. But words are nothing without actions, and I myself are not yet sure if I can follow through. Needy but frigid? Slutty in a self elected dry spell? Or any other strange juxtaposition that I can come up with? I've been called worse things.

So back to the straddle. You've just grinded me down onto the bulge building in your pants. Despite the layers of clothing, I sigh as I feel your cock straining in your pants between my open thighs. Our kisses become more eager, and I begin to slowly move my hips. Forward. And back. Forward. And back. Do I turn you on, babe? Was that a moan I heard? I know exactly what I'm doing by grinding my hips into you, and that moan is the only encouragement I need. Are you getting harder, feeling my pussy rubbing up against you?

Your hands trace down from my waist, grabbing a handful of arse cheek in each. The grip you have on my arse permits you to increase the speed of my grind. That cock of yours has comfortably found itself a place resting between my pussy. Your hips begin to move with mine, causing me to let out a whimper as the pressure of you grinding back into me makes your cock hit my clit with every movement. If you dared to stop, you'd notice two wet patches forming on the front of your pants. One, delicious precum from that throbbing cock of yours, and two, my sopping wet patch from my swollen pussy.

I mean, at this point, I try to reign myself in. I'm allowed one filthy scenario, and I feel like imagining alternative possibilities of what happens next that is breaking that theory. Not to say that I haven't imagined what would possibly come of me kneeling in front of you. Or bending myself over the couch. Or me pulling my underwear to the side. As I said, I try to not let my imagination get that far. Try, being the key word.