Secret Thots for a Very Private Gentleman
tales, temptation, and titillation…
I am on my back
—waiting to be spread wide apart—
waiting for you to die with the sense of you
—the pleasure of you—
the sensuousness of you touching the sensuousness of me
—all my body—
all of me is waiting for you to touch
the center of me with the center of you.
—Georgia O’Keefe—
[…] My burning
Flesh is yours; with a thousand coils let it be
Bound by you, let it rest in you, down at last
Let it sink, calmed and conquered
By your mighty kiss.
— Vittoria Aganoor Pompili —
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
I had to change my panties today when I arrived home; I’d been thinking about you. Trying not to think about you made it worse and the warm, secret-gush of my pussy juice had soaked
through. Even now, after changing into fresh lace, I can smell the lingering aroma that’s dried on my fingertips along with a knuckle.
And I think about your mouth, your whiskers pressed deeply against the silky folds of my cunt. Your nose pressed against my trimmed mound. I inhale deeply and as I walk to the sink, I think about you: when you latch on and suck
and suck
and suck…
until light.
I straddle you, naked. I am far from perfect but what I am is soft. Unbelievably smooth. You’re reminded of this as you feel my inner thighs rest on the outside of yours. As your hand caresses the side of my hip and traces down, gentle in its casual admiration. You stretch yourself out for me and my hands trace your chest, your shoulders, and lift your hands to my mouth. I kiss you. First your fingers. I place your hands on my breasts, under so you can feel their giddy roundness, the subtle weight that small, perky breasts offer. I kiss your hands that give me such pleasure, luxuriating in your length.
My other hand gently circles again and again around your head – the glistening pre-cum giving me all the lube I need. I take my time with you. I take my time discovering you anew. Mewing my approval so much so that you wish I had tied you up so that you could truly give yourself over to me. My appetite for you is boundless. We both want you to watch me do exactly what I want with your body. Your cock bobs its magical dance to the sound of my voice, transforming my radiant wish into… something more.
“I want you to moan.”
And before the surprise in your exhale has time to rest, my cunt is there, paused just above your face. You think you are the only one who feels helplessness; you don’t realize how distracting your mouth is for me every moment of every day we are apart. My head falls back, anticipating you, us. I can feel your hot breath between my legs.
And you feel it too – you smell my juice – just reading that.
Don’t you?
The moan that just slipped from the back of your throat?
It’s mine.
I claim it for my clit.
I rest my weight on your face. Finally. My back arches in response—in delicate, luxurious echo.
Again, the moan that just slipped out, it is mine—along with all the ones that follow. I bite my lip, I want you so fucking bad. Right now, your claim is the fuck juice between my legs and the tremble in my hands (as I type and) as I hold your head and lift your beautiful face even deeper inside me. My sigh is every pleasure for you unveiled.
There is nothing hidden right now, especially not with the weight I give your mouth as you split me wide and unblushingly suckle, slurp, and seize my folds between your tongue and lips and teeth (so fucking clever, you). And I can’t help myself; I can’t stop grinding every millimeter of my sopping, silken pussy onto your mouth.
My ragged breaths inspire you. I’m riding your face now, sliding up and down, sideways and around, everything you’re doing is so fucking perfect. From between the slick of our sounds, your voice is a growl:
“I want you to moan.”
And the moan that just vibrated out of me now, is yours. Please, claim it for your cum. You must. For the throbbing, bobbing cock begging for release as you read these words and for my swollen, velvet pussy lips that threaten to squirt all over you.
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?
The sky is full of stars.
Just looking at you ignites me.
The way your eyes pierce and your jaw sets when you see my naked. A deep thrust followed by your deep kiss. The moan you make as you lean back to watch. Your slow slide inside.
The smile you make as you blush.
The way you kiss me and kiss me and kiss me as your hands please me. Your body, hot and slick, eagerly pressing into me and mine. Watching my bold, taut nipple disappear into your mouth. The perfection of our reflection in the mirror. Your urgency to feel more – torn between watching and tasting more of me. The pitch of your cum-moan as it drifts off into the night.
When you say, “Once more.” and “Again?”
We spoke all night
in tongues,
in fingertips,
in teeth.
— Robert Haas —
we dance like we mean it.
