I crave you constantly.
Whatever I’m doing, you’re always there in my mind. Actually, that’s not quite true - you’re usually front and center. The memory of you: so hot, so handsome, so sweet, leaves my body humming, my pussy aching, impossible to ignore.
I remember tracing my fingers along your arm, wide-eyed, watching them glide over the muscles beneath your soft skin. They moved to your chest, then down your abs, lingering on each ridge to memorize them properly. My hand slid to your side, following the line of muscle that guided me exactly where I wanted to go: to your cock.
Laying there, relaxed and unassuming, as if he didn’t know he was about to be ravished. I continued down your inner thighs to tease you a bit and to enjoy the change of scenery from soft skin to getting lost in the hair on your legs.
My whole body moved lower as my eyes explored every inch of your cock - one of the most glorious I’ve ever seen.
We had just finished another round of sex, and you were sprawled on the bed, probably thinking we were done for now.
I leaned down, close to your dick.
You lazily asked, “Are you starting something again?”
“Nope, of course not,” I said, my mouth already open, my tongue sliding up your length from balls to tip.
“Are you sure about that?” you asked, amused.
“Mhmm,” I replied, your cock now fully in my mouth, soft and pliant before hardening in my grip.
If I had any thought at all in that moment, it was gratitude - for unlocking a new level of pleasure. Giving oral, not because I should, but because it’s an ecstasy all its own, a privilege that makes me hornier with every second.
I held your growing cock in my hand, licking the tip, letting saliva drip down to make it sloppy. The messiness turned me on even more.
I was soaking wet, ready to feel you inside me again.
Your moans filled the air as you started to watch me. I looked up, catching you biting your lip, your face full of desire. You tried to move me, eager to slide inside, but I wasn’t done yet. I wanted to savor you a little longer - until you were begging for it. Or was it me who was begging?
I spat on your cock again, stroking, lingering on the tip where your moans were loudest.
Then I shifted slightly to the side, my fingers sliding down to play with myself, giving you a clear view of how wet I was.
“Fuck,” you groaned, stroking yourself as you watched. “When did you get so wet?”
I didn’t answer, just kept playing with myself for a heartbeat longer before you positioned yourself on top of me.
Your cock teased at my entrance, sliding against me, my body screaming for you to enter.
But you held back, hovering, your strong arms braced above me, a playful grin on your lips.
My hand reached for your chest, running down to your abdomen, marveling for the hundredth time at the perfection of your body.
I whimpered, moaned, begged for you to come inside. But you only smiled, taking your time, sliding against my clit, wet with my pleasure.
The anticipation was maddening, delicious, unbearable.
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