I put my ass up to
bring out the best in you
the best is yet to cum…
immaculate consistency…
Dear Gentle Sir,
At the crosswalk, the stranger eyes me from the other side of the street. He imagines what might be my favourite position even as he places me in his favourite position. He wonders what I might taste like. And if my full lips could make him cum.
He imagines his view standing over me, bent over, ass up, taking it from behind with the kind of wild pleasure he imagines he could give me.
He imagines my expression as I finger myself for him. He watches me intently. Trying to guess what my nipples look like. He notes my long, lean legs and imagines spreading them, watching my pretty pussy squirt all over his tidy work pants.
I allow this. I look him in the eye. He meets my gaze and for a very long moment, he believes that I want him just like he wants me. The light changes. We step into the street and we take deliberate steps towards one other.
I look at this body and appreciate its breadth and width. Without a doubt, his cock would fill me many times over. I note his strong hands and thick neck and the way his jaw clenches as we draw ever closer.
I see the hunger in his eyes—I know that look. He is expectant as our paths meet in the middle of intersection.
He slows a fraction, straightening his spine, making room in his pants for the throbbing shaft that is heating up for me. In that moment, I know I can say anything and it—he— will be mine.
And all that comes to mind is your name.
Only Yours my Love,
Lola xo
hip deep in the velvety squish…
Dear Gentle Sir,
None of my words here are original or new.
Nothing I say here is a surprise.
Everything I write here is simple:
notes on the scale of wanting you
and your moans as you read me, are my song.
Not-So-Secretly Yours,
Lola xo
cumming to a head…
Dear Gentle Sir,
I’ve been thinking about the tip of your cock, the fullness of your shaft, and its shining bead of pre-cum… again.
Fuck me soon,
Lola xo
superlua…
Dear Gentle Sir,
I gasped aloud tonite (just now, in fact), thinking of you. The swell of my need arose sudden and sharp. I need your mouth on me. I want to be with you in all the ways that lovers know, in ways we have yet to know. There will only be “yes” between us… and the stories we weave with our bodies.
Over the moon for you,
Lola xo
what matters is that you are flowering…
Dear Gentle Sir,
Your hug presses my subtle curves against your body as we breathe. We hold this embrace, we breathe one another in – the smell of my hair, the clean cotton of your shirt – we breath in our heat.
My heart beats faster as you slowly pull away but keep your hand on the back of my hip. I look into your beautiful face as your other hand slowly traces around my ribs and down my side. Your thumb trails behind as it rides over the soft mound of my outer breast. As usual, I follow your shy lead. As usual, your confident desire overcomes both of us.
I leave one hand on the back of your neck, the other rests on your chest. I am in love with your masculine width and tender breath. I want to stay here, encased inside your casual embrace, held in your quiet assurance.
Both hands rest on my hips now. You are about to speak but instead you look at me. You don’t look away. You play with a strand of my long hair, pause again to drink my face in and then you sigh softly.
This stillness…
It counters the fury of my heart beating. It balances out the countless ways I want to suck you off, lick you clean, suckle your skin in secret places, and make your toes curl with mind-numbing pleasure. It forces me to pretend that I haven’t stroked my clit, spread my swollen lips while you watched – smelling my fingers afterwards – before I put them in your starving mouth. It begs my silence even as my pussy lips swell and vibrate with my fuck-juices – these dark lips of mine that want nothing more than to grind in/on/ with you. This stillness of ours moans my unquenchable, wholly fuckable, loving desire for you… that has yet to abate and likely never will.
Our calm, unnamed certainty is the best of all intimacies – that roots itself now in the rumbling passion and uninhibited cries, jaw dropping moans, and throaty cums that are to follow.
Not So Silently Yours,
Lola xo
al(l)ways…
Dear Gentle Sir,
Before I fuck your brains out, I will kiss the palm of your hand and gently suckle your neck, just behind your earlobe.
Before I make your toes curl, I will wrap my tongue around your balls and hum my moaning need to feel you burst with cum inside me.
Before you watch me arch and squirt my pleasure all over your hand, I will ride and slide my slit along your cock with my hands pressed against your chest.
I will moan your name like a growl. I will moan your name with every buck and tug and pound. I will moan your name to the beat of my every pleasure. How we will dance together under this full moon!
Before you wake, I will fuel your dreams with memories so potent you will weep not to find me there.
Always, in all ways,
Lola xo
you just made me…
It’s windy today. All the windows are open. The leaves wrinkle the air like your warm, post-coital back wrinkles fresh linens. The wind reminds me of moans. Of our pleasure sounds. And how juicy I am when you’re between my legs.
It’s hard to describe the feeling of my long, silky and wet rubbing, pressing, pulsating against your strength and heat and bristles, width, and length. My body knows it, though; even now as I write it, my clit trembles and my lips swell at the thot.
…
I have to pause. I have to slowly slide my summer dress up and slip my silky panties to the side so that I can lay myself down on my bed and tend to the quivering cum I will become with thots of you.
…
How is it that the air carries the echo of your moans – some, the most delicious I’ve ever heard? How do your eyes manage to pierce my armour in memory and dreams? What mystery and magic are you that stops me in my tracks on sunny, windy days and makes me cum as sweet and deeply as I just did?
insaziabile…
Dear Gentle Sir,
There is something about the midday light that elicits a particular kind of restlessness in me. It’s the same kind of shiver you can only see by looking in my eyes when you are say, feverishly swinging my legs over your shoulder to side-fuck me. Or, when you take my toes into your warm mouth and watch me moan and writhe with surprise.
I spend long periods of time trying not to touch myself when I think about you. I am rarely successful, however. Today, for instance, the image of your clenched jaw as you finger me into yet another feral cum spun me headlong into a series of toe-curling masturbation sessions.
And it is the watching – the way you look and watch and see me – when I am at my most open and therefore, most vulnerable; it is your beautiful eyes on me that somehow continue to rule over nearly every corner of my memory… and my imagination. Years later, I am still woven into the Mystery of being with you.
Today, I wanted to call you each time. I wanted you to sense how my smooth skin warms at the mere thot of you. I wanted you to hear my moans and throaty coos to remember how deeply you still move me.
I wanted you to ask me what I was doing… so that I could tell you how I couldn’t get the right pressure against my clit and so, just like when you’ve suddenly, needfully, and confidently picked me up or swung me around to suit your needs better, I too suddenly needed more. I wanted to tell you how quickly I pushed my bum back and up, one arm stretched out and supporting while the other pushed my lace thong down farther. All so that I could feel my own heat spread and put my full clit’s weight onto my knuckles and cum for you.
(And that was just the first round.)
With each round, I wanted to cum for your eyes and ears and taste buds and hands and cock and ass and inner thighs and heart and more… I wanted to cum for all of you. I wanted you here, naked with me in the soft, midday heat of this summer sun. I wanted you like I want you…
Now,
Lola xo
we are casual in our arrival…
To the uninformed, we are two people, neutral in our delight, calm in one another’s company. No one could guess that deep in the night (during the hours that bewitch the morning), you lick your finger and feel the texture of my juice. Still. Unlike your tongue, no one knows quite how my clit swells. Unlike your eyes, no one has seen me bend and beg and coo and ride us both to freedom. Few could paint with words the way you draw me deeper into these noises I make – like velvet grinding into steel. It is impossible for anyone to know the ease with which we sit together over a meal or a drink – every syllable our eager fuck, our sweet love-making in every swallow.