[I know – I’ve been quiet. Perhaps I’ll write about that at some other time. Not now, though.]
R was very briefly very promising back in the early days of the pandemic. In the second week of April, when I was utterly consumed with Marina, R sent me a few insanely hot photos. It seemed she was driven by compulsion, a compulsion which, very briefly, resulted in my cock’s being stiffened by her pale white skin, her shoulder-length red hair, and her killer body – small breasts, a spectacular, meaty, round ass. And, a very pretty face that she very vulnerably shared with me.
As I do when a woman makes my cock hard, I asked her to make my cock harder, more.
This, it seemed, was too much.
I heard her voice – a lovely, upper-class (I would guess, but I’m not really a connoisseur of British accents) voice. And I read her words. She’s thoughtful. Articulate.
She said good-bye, four days after she first e-mailed, telling me, “sexuality can be a way I distance myself from what’s really going on,” and apologizing (or really, apologising) for not being able to feed me as I wanted her to.
Well.
Today?
She has fed me precisely as I wanted her to. Photos of her ass, her hair, her face, her cunt and thighs, all fill my inbox today. I just watched as she teased her pussy for me, over her sleek black thong. And as she turned her ass toward me, to give me just a teasing glimpse.
As I write this, she is (I trust) coming for me.
What a good girl.
Thank you, R. (I hope you, dear readers, enjoy her body as much as I am….)
