Dear Boy,

I’ve been thinking about you today. Missing you, wondering if I have crossed your mind. It’s time for me to be sleeping, but instead time ticks on my fingers until the next time I get to see you. Do you think of me too?

Lying on this bed, spread out on burgundy sheets, tangled waves of brown hair fanned above me, my hand has strayed to my silky panties. Thinking of you. Of what it's like to have you here. My knees bend as I see your auburn head between them. Your picture sits there on the bedside, gazing at me with those eyes crinkled up at the corner, the knowing look that says you know what I want, how I need. That you can give it to me. Eyes latched, your face a contrast to my anticipation, quirky smile to my bitten lip.

I know you aren’t really here, but the imagination is a powerful thing. The hair tickles as it brushes against my thighs, almost kissing them as it grazes past.  I can feel your breath on me, teasing.

“Touch me,” I whisper to the empty room, and fingers graze the soft skin. They skim across it in feather touches, just tracing along the top of the thigh. A brush across the smooth mound, lips brushing pale skin, sends shivers through me. I want more, but you knowingly hold back.

My head arches with my shoulders, back into the pillow of the mattress, my body bowing under that tracing touch. Knees spread wide, hand between them taking your place. I slide a finger down to the crevasse, where it gathers the clinging wetness to spread like peanut butter, lathered across the sandwich of my folds.

I'm reminded of the last time you were there, I lay open to you such. Anticipation of the greedy pleasure to come, fingers interlocked above my head. I watched you descend, till those touchable locks were exactly where I see them now, nestled between my legs. So soft, grazing my thighs, teasing, almost what I want but not enough.

I draw my heels up close to the curve of my buttocks, and my knees spread wider. Thighs flex as I push them down; I admire the line of lean muscle there. It curves out with the tension.  Smooth, tanned skin pulled taut as I spread myself. I think of how you like them. If your head where there, I am sure you would have your teeth nipping the inside, watching me jump.

I slide my fingers across the wet surface a little faster, thinking of your mouth on me. Its heat turns my skin into an inferno, scorching the moisture of your tongue.  I imagine your tongue’s taunting little touches across me, nimble muscle frisking there. Soft finger of your tongue flows across those folds, touching, stroking the little one in the middle, tempting the little fold to reveal its softest flower.

My head falls back and I moan. I can see me gripping those short hairs and pulling you tight, holding you closer, grinding against the intrusion seeking deeper, harder. Aching for more, my fingers press on, faster they flash. Rocking my hips, I groan out into the silence, my strained thighs still parted.

If you were here, Sweets; if your head was buried in my snatch, would you nip the bud as it emerges? Teeth grazing it? Would you laugh and hold fast, your warm lips pressed to my wet puffy ones, as I moved under you?

I slap my fingers down, palm against my mound. The clap of skin on skin seems harsh, but the jolt that shocks through my core is lightning, burning through my cloud of lust. Again I bring them to bear sharply. My mind sees you slapping me, the juice that slides down the cleft between my spread checks scattering, drops landing on my lips. Each slap shakes me and my legs jerk, still tucked close, tension building in those stretched thighs.

I pet my wetness. The pain never fails to contrast against the sweetness, and it makes me eager to touch faster, to press harder, and to pursue my high. I push my hips forward; if you were here, I’d be pleading for more, to give me my release.

I push two fingers in, palm against my clit, pressing tight against it. In and out of my dripping box my fingers move, the velvet walls clinging to them, squeezing. Jacking hips working me deeper, I curve my fingertips: curl them forwards, press my palm against the mound.

My orgasm is coming and I race towards it eagerly. My lips are parted in both grimace and grin, teeth bared. The heels that are tucked up push down deep into the mattress, hefting my ass up. I rock, and toss, head lolling. I moan louder and louder as I writhe.

I see you there, gripping me with your teeth, clasping me as you plunge your fingers in deeper and harder. Pistoning into my twat, you pin me with your eyes, and I am helpless, can do naught but release and fly.

I call out; sob for redemption, as I come. My eyes close and I jerk, knees clamping closed around my hand. My fingers are clutched, locked in their saturated pocket.

Panting breath, I still. My hips slowing, then coming to rest on the mattress, and my fingers softly released, slide from my still twitching pussy. Bringing them to my lips, I consume my tang, tongue surrounding and stroking each one.  My eyes drop from your picture, released from your blinkless stare by my softening limbs. They close, and I wiggle a little, smiling, thinking of your arms holding me.

I need to sleep now lover, but I wanted to leave this for you to when you wake.

.

Your Girl