Fuck toy

I. The premise

It’s nice, being in the position to use you so comprehensively for my pleasure. Not to have to worry, or even to think about, what it is that you might want. Not, of course, because I’m indifferent to your wants, to your needs; no, I’m quite attentive to them, I think you’ll find. (I think you remember.) But because it turns out that we both achieve so much greater satisfaction when me make my desires our focus, when we conspire to make you a toy for the achievement of my desires.

It’s been some time since I traveled for the sole purpose of sex. But I will do that, for you. In exchange, of course, you will do much for me.

II. The preparation

To begin with, you will do some shopping for me. I will give you a list of items you’ll need to procure for my visit. You will be prepared to satisfy various of my appetites. You’ll get some scotch (a bottle of Oban 14-year-old Scotch). You’ll get some good, dark roasted coffee. Beans, preferably, if you have a grinder. But no need to buy a grinder just for me. You’ll buy the fixings for a simple, delicious green salad – lettuce, tomatoes, carrots, peppers, mushrooms, balsamic vinegar. You’ll buy 6-8 bottles of sparkling water. Or seltzer, as I tend to call it. Not a fancy brand. Just water with bubbles. You’ll buy some berries – strawberries, blueberries, blackberries. And some fruit – melon, apples, plums.

You’ll do some clothes shopping. You’ll send me, you’ll allow me to choose, three possible options for each of the following: black heels. Black stockings (thigh-high). Black bikini panties, silk. Black boyshorts, silk. Black bras. Black miniskirts. White button-up blouses. Black bow ties. Black caps. And black sunglasses.

And one more thing. A butt plug. Small, inconspicuous. The sort you can keep in your ass as you go about your day. If you are so inclined. Or instructed.

This clothing shopping, obviously, will take place some time before my visit. The food shopping, just a day or so before. Even the day of. So I can enjoy the freshest of ingredients.

III. The execution

When my flight arrives, you will greet me at the baggage claim, with a simple sign, reading, “N.” You will be dressed in the clothes described above. You will not have had an orgasm in, what, 2, 3, 5 days? You will have edged plenty, of course, but you will not have allowed yourself to come. I will have seen you dress in what you’re wearing to greet me. I will have seen as you stepped your pretty, pale legs through the panties, as you hiked them over your round, round ass. I will have watched as you rolled the stockings up over those legs, up, up, reaching toward, but not reaching, that pretty cunt of yours. I will have watched as you hook the clasp of the bra, as you turn it around to cup your round, perky, delicious breasts. You will have shown me as you put the skirt on, as you buttoned up your blouse, as you put on the bowtie, as you put the cap on, and as, finally, you lowered the shades over your eyes. All of this you will have shown me, touching your pussy for me along the way, holding yourself as close as possible to orgasm without allowing yourself to come. Oh, and the butt plug. You’ll insert that for me just as you get ready to leave your house.

So when I come off the plane, when I walk out of the secure area, and I find you, dressed as we’ve arranged, holding the sign I just described, the butt plug in your ass, your legs apart just a bit wider than you might naturally be inclined to stand, I will know that your cunt reeks of its juices, that your fingers reek of its juices, too, and that your whole body is ready for me. Ready for me to put it to its proper use. And as soon as you see me, as soon as me make eye contact, such as is possible through the shades, you’ll turn around with a flourish, and you’ll lead the way to your car.


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