—you push every button
—i scream
you scream so loudly i shove your pretty lace panties in your mouth
—you will never be able to stay at this hotel again
you will never be able to wear that lace lingerie again
not without blushing at the things you did in it. Gladly.
—I am so wet there are rivulets streaming down the inside of my thighs.
I want to see that.
show me
—I slide off you. Stand up. Push you down on the bed.
my cock is yours
—I climb over you, up your torso. Slither up you. I am so wet, I leave slick along you where I touch you.
—I straddle your face. I’m up high – you can’t reach me yet. But you see me. And you feel me as I drip. Droplet by droplet.
mmmmm the sweet scent of you
I open my mouth to catch your sweet juice
on my chin, on my tongue, on my lips…dripping down the sides of my face
‘Play with your pussy. I want you to gush on me.’
—Christ.
Do as you’re told. Now.
—My hands: one on my clit, the other hugging my breasts.
—Yours – on my calves. Just holding them.
No, gripping them tight.
Feel the pressure of my hands?
—Yes…
— (can we match this in real life, my lover? Because this conversation is turning into the most erotic chapter of my life…And we’ve set the bar fucking high in the past.)
(yes, oh, yes, we will. In 11 days.)
—I drop a little lower, just graze you with my pussy
—oh god
—and again
my tongue just barely able to lap at your slit
‘squeeze your breasts fucking HARD. cum on me.’
my fingers dig into your legs HARD
—I’m not really there. I’m on that front lawn in…what neighbourhood was that? Do you remember? my skirt around my waist…
—and on your roof, your mouth on my pussy, my breasts
YES
—…and in a stairwell…which one? oh god
There were several. All of them fucking hot.
—I scream again, and oh my god, I’m coming all over your face, right now, and every moment in the past all at once
i can see your pussy clench and spasm as your juice pours down on me hot and sweet
—I collapse
you are delicious
—the world spins
And now you’re ready to be really fucked. Before you can recover. I’m far from through with you.
Though sadly I have to leave now. To the gym. With my wife. Reality does intrude. But you’ll know I’m sweating to look good for you.
And you have a photo to take for me.
—Reality is.
—But. Wow. Thank you, my lover.
Thank YOU. You know what I want to see, don’t you?
—yes
Good.
I’ll check later.
—xx
xo
I am not going to send him a picture of my pussy. What sort of skank does he think I am?
Wednesday, December 5
I don’t sleep. I don’t think. I just…is feel even the right verb? I’m sick with desire. And generally sick. And resentful. And angry. And so filled with lust, sleep is impossible.
I go downstairs and try to find a make-work project. But it’s too early for even Toronto to panic and send me work and I’ve met all my other deadlines. I work to calm myself by organising family photos. Thanksgiving. Halloween. Random life shots – but all real life. Children. Mother. Not a psychotic skank whore orgasming on command to words on the computer screen.
Mmmm, orgasm.
Fuck. I slap my face. Then, stupid, thoughtless, log into Twitter and Facebook. And read this:
You kept me up all night, lover. I dreamed I was watching you fuck a man like an animal, your eyes locked on mine the whole time. Even when you came.
Ten days.
Oh, my fucking God. Real life. Children. Mother. Wife! It all recedes into the background. Instead:
—I walk around on edge of orgasm all day and I read this, and I come, instantly, immediately. Silently.
And he’s in Montréal, so of course, he is already awake, moving, online. And he writes back:
10 days. Nine, really.
Love the thought of you on a hair trigger.
—I’m still worried the reality will fall short of the build-up.
Reality has many things in its favour. Such as the feeling of you wrapped around my cock.
—Your tongue on my skin.
