The part I fail to mention is that it wasn’t a dream about us sucking each other dry, it was a sweet dream with no real objective, we were just together in it and we both had smiles and a moment between us, the kind of moment that inspires stories.
“You filthy minx,” you respond light heartedly and I smile because you’re allowed to make your assumptions because tonight I do plan to dream of us being filthy rude and delicious.
“Come here,” you say, and I’m already there, in much the same way that I’m already yours.
“You didn’t get those lips by sucking lollipops!” you say unbuttoning your jeans and releasing yourself for my viewing, sampling pleasure.
Already I have fallen to my knees and I’m keen to show you what I can do.
I smile at you and you make a mental note, a photograph in your mind's eye of the beamer I give you just before I take you into my mouth for the first time.
I start slowly on the tip of you, concentrating on the taste of you. I pause for a second to lick my lips and make gentle noises of approval and appreciation.
Now I take more of you into my warm eager mouth, my hands reaching around you, drawing you ever nearer, kneading because they need a part in this.
My mouth is full of you now, my eyes closed as I go about pleasing you. It feels like a test and I’m up for the task.
Your hands clutch fistfuls of my hair and you watch me as I put everything I have into enjoying you. You can see that I’m enjoying it as much as you and you think that’s how it’s supposed to be.
I want you and the only way I can show you at this moment in time is by striving to take you further into me. The need is consuming me and in turn I’m consuming you, swallowing you now, ignoring the gagging, pushing past it, denying it because I want your cum coating the back of my throat as much as I want your approval.
Faster and faster I move on you, usually unattractive noises become the product of my efforts and then I have it, all of it, shooting into my throat past my tonsils, your approval in liquid form, your moans of undeniable pleasure are the icing on the cake.
My own need is apparent now and my knickers sport a wet patch in the centre, like a bull's eye representing my target. I’m pleased with myself but feeling equally wild.
“Is my little girl nice and wet?” you ask me in the condescending tone that arouses me so.
You know it arouses me too and when I nod and barely audibly utter the word “yes” it just encourages you.
“Are you going to show me?” you say and fucking hell yes I want to show you I think as I brush aside any shyness that’s lingering in my head. I sit my backside down open my legs and lean backwards as I lift up my dress and hitch my wet knickers to the side exposing my slick pussy.
“That’s my good girl,” you say and my eyes are closed because really I can’t bear the scrutiny despite needing it.
“Now show me how you touch it,” you add, still in that tone.
I’m practically dripping as I part my soft lips and rub my juices over my swollen clit.
“Does that feel good?” you ask and though it would feel better if it were your fingers on me, I can’t deny that it does.
“Yes,” I whisper, my voice cracking with desire.
“Would you like me to touch it?” you ask and I answer you non-verbally by removing my fingers and shifting closer to you.