Apr 112013
 

You sit, feet from me.

You know just how hot you look.

You are self-conscious – not insecure, just perfectly aware of every move of your body, how it affects me.

You calculate every move you make.

You brush a finger across your lips, knowing that I can’t help but imagine pressing my lips against yours.

You sip, ostentatiously, from your mug, knowing I can’t help but imagine pressing my cock through your lips.

You smile, wide, knowing that my eyes already are traveling down your body.

You sit up straighter, arching your back, pressing your breasts forward, against your blouse, knowing that I can’t help but imagine holding, squeezing, biting, them.

You spread your thighs slightly, just a bit more, knowing that your pussy is a magnet to my eyes, that I’m lowering my gaze, that I can’t help but imagine pressing my palm against your leggings, that I can’t help but imagine sliding my hand between your leggings and your panties, that I can’t help but imagine pressing your panties against your cunt, that I can’t help but imagine sliding my hand down inside your panties, pressing against your pussy, that I can’t help but imagine feeling the wetness of your cunt with first one, then two fingers, skirting the outside of your lips to collect lubrication, to spread it around, that I can’t help but imagine shoving my finger, no my fingers, deep inside you, pulling you up toward me from inside with one hand, pulling you against me with the other, behind your head, grabbing you, pulling, pressing, as my lips find yours, as my tongue finds yours.

You know that I can’t help but imagine throwing you down, tearing your clothes off, pressing your thighs back, your ankles back, and diving down to taste you. No, not up to taste you, to devour you.

You know that I can’t help but imagine your cries, your squeals, your moans, as I tenderly brutalize (ruthlessly attend to? gently tickle?) your clit.

You know that I can’t help but imagine the feel, the smell, of your juices covering my face, mingling with my own saliva, mucous, all of our fluids everywhere, covering everything, messy, sloppy, juicy.

That I can’t help but imagine the sounds – not just the sounds of your moans, but the sounds of my moans of satisfaction and delight as I inhale you, as I press into you, and the sounds of general wetness. Your pussy. My saliva. My tongue. My fingers. Squishing, sloshing. And yes, your moans. The sound of your moans, over all, not so much drowning out those other sounds as trumping them.

That I can’t help but imagine the feeling of sliding my cock slowly, slowly, into you.

No, not slowly, slowly. That I can’t help but imagine my cock pounding into you, fast, hard, deep. That I can’t help but imagine your head sliding back on the floor, the table, the desk, the bed, up against the wall.

No, not fast, hard, deep. That I can’t help but imagine my cock gliding, slowly, slowly, slowly, deep, far. Your head sliding back still, but more slowly, gently, as you feel my cock deep inside you.

No, not slowly. That I can’t help but imagine fucking you fast, hard, deep. Over and over. Over and over.

You know that I can’t help but imagine….

  4 Responses to “You know that I can’t help but imagine….”

  1. *fans self* well, that was sincerely hot. The thought and build up can just be so very good!

  2. Great blog you have here but I was wanting
    to know if you knew of any message boards that cover the same topics talked about here?
    I’d really love to be a part of online community where I can get comments from other knowledgeable people that share the same interest. If you have any suggestions, please let me know. Bless you!

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