I want to tell you what to do. To tell you what to wear. To insinuate myself into your thoughts, into your speech.
I want you to say “yes” to me.
I want you to feel my eyes burning through the clothes I’ve chosen for you to wear – even when I can’t see you.
I want you to imagine those clothes are me, mine, touching you all over, all day. Your bra softly holds your breasts. Restrained, gentle. For now. As I would.
Your t-shirt rests lightly on your breasts, presses them ever-so-slightly toward your torso. As I would.
Your panties (boyshorts, natch) cup your ass, pressing, gently, into your pussy. Not too far. Not too hard. But constantly. As I would.
Your jeans wrap around your legs, touching every inch of your calves, your thighs, your inner thighs, weightlessly. As I would.
I want you to know, to feel, that soon – so soon – those sensations of fabric will be subsumed by sensations of flesh.
I want your cunt to tingle with anticipation – moist, warm anticipation, as you imagine my tongue teasing your clit, as you imagine my cock first sliding, slowly, into you, then, pounding into you.
I want your lips to glisten with saliva, freshly, repeatedly licked by you, as you imagine them wrapped around my cock, pressed against my lips. Nervously licked by you, as you imagine them devoted to my pleasure, to my use.
Give me this. Give me all of this.
Say “yes” to me.