Remembering Anya

This morning, as I meditated, I found my thoughts drifting inexorably to Anya. I kissed her, once. We had drinks twice. She sent me a few dozen supremely hot photos of her supremely hot body over the course of a year or so, generally unbidden.

A few weeks ago, she surfaced in my fantasies, and promptly receded. This morning, though, she didn’t recede. Rather, she approached, immovable.

Kneeling, she was. Wordless, in a dark hotel room, her hands behind her back, her mouth, open, waiting, as I slowly, gently, fed her my cock.

I repeatedly turned my thoughts back to my breaths, counting them: 1, 2, 3.

Well, not 3.

Each time, before I reached 3, I confronted the image of her pretty lips wrapped around my hard, hard, cock.

What I wouldn’t give….

Oh yeah: after my meditation, I came, hard, to that fantasy.

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