So you want me to write you something. Is that it?
You want me to tell you that all I can think about is you. The way your cock looks when it is hard and throbbing, and that first clear drop of cum slides out of it. How much I want to run the pad of my thumb over that drop and bring it to my mouth to taste you. An appetizer of sorts. Tell you that tasting that drop, that lip licking drop, always makes me hunger for more. To be filled with your cum. So that it is seeping from my body and onto the floor.
Or maybe you want me to tell you that I use your voice in my head to get myself off. Your honey thick words telling me I’m yours. Telling me that I cannot cum until you permit it. Telling me in the gentlest whisper of a breath that I am your dirty nasty whore. Tell you that when I fuck myself with my own fingers that I really want them to be yours. That when I groan and buck in orgasm that it is you I am calling for.
Or perhaps you want me to write and tell you how we’d fuck. How I’d know what every inch of your skin tastes like. And how your cock feels when it hits deep inside of me and steals my breath. Describe to you the delicious pain of your thick cock sliding into my ass.
To write and tell you where we’d fuck. In front of the wide open window, hanging onto the curtains for leverage. In the shower with my tits smashed against the glass as you pound me from behind. In the hardbacked chair as you pull my head back and mark my neck with your teeth. Or in bed, with the headboard banging against the wall and my fists full of sheet.
So you want me to write you something like that?
Okay.
