Thursday afternoons are always the dullest day of the week, where my need for you is felt most keenly. For some reason, the weather always seems to mirror my mood. Streaks of rain flash across my window, glittering streaks against an otherwise gray sky.
Dressed only in my pink nighty, I assess myself in the mirror, turning to see the delicate lace of my nighty as it cups the line of my ass. The underwear is too pretty to be hidden beneath clothing; it demands to be seen, to be torn from my body in a passionate rage. My fingers sneak beneath the cups of my bra, and I roll my nipples beneath my needy fingers. Half-watching myself in the mirror, I imagine that I am watching a peep show. The stranger in the mirror twists her nipples, gasps in pain. I want so desperately to be on display for you; to have you command me in self-pleasure.
A devilish idea takes root. I know that you are busy. I know how hectic your schedule is. And yet, I want to distract you; to draw you to me.
Grabbing my phone, I recline across my bed, I slip my underwear from my body and marvel at the delicious depravity of my nudity. I position the camera so that it captures the image of my masturbation. My body fills the screen wantonly. I do not want there to be any ambiguity within my message; I want you to see me in all my whorey desperation. I push my fingers against my clit. Rubbing in intense circles, kissing my needy pussy with adoration.
My mind wanders; a montage of your prowess plays. I imagine you kissing me, biting my nipples, forcing your cock deep into my pussy. My eyes flutter shut. My lips part. I moan your name. When the throes of my orgasm have subsided, I send you the video. You will be tempted by this, my siren song, and it will compel you towards me as sure as any magic spell. You are bound to me, bewitched.
Languidly, I stretch my limbs across the vast savannah of my bed. It is lonely without you, the sheets a poor imitation of the warmth and comfort of your body.
Although I try to pretend otherwise, I am also captivated by you. You are an addiction, a need.
After a few frustrating minutes, I hear the door burst open. In your haste, you skid into the room, already stripping off your shirt. I am transfixed by the sinews of your arm, which move as you throw off your jeans. You pull off your boxers and your circumcised cock springs free.
You throw yourself onto the bed, claim my mouth with yours.
“Do you have long?” I ask, frantically reaching for your cock and stroking you to hardness.
“No,” you whisper as you kiss my neck, twisting my hair round your hand and pulling my head back. Your hand skims across my abdomen, a symphony across my skin. You play with my wetness, slipping a finger into my sodden pussy.
I spit into my hand -- we do not have the time for me to search the drawer to find the lube -- and wrap my fingers around your girth.
Struggling to contain the sheer mass of your cock in one hand, I focus my attention on your tip, playing with you until you moan.
“More,” you command, your voice rough with desire.
Obediently, I begin to move my wrist more frantically, capturing the length of your long, thick cock. Not satisfied with my hand, you flip me over, position my ass so that my holes are on display, ready to be filled. You caress my ass, the heat from your palm smoothing over my cool skin. I moan with shameless desire.
“Please fuck me, daddy,” I beg.
You tear my arms from beneath me and pin them behind my back. My face falls onto the pillow and I am forced to use my core strength to keep myself in position. Completely under your control, I am immobilized, unable to thrust back against you as you slowly, luxuriantly slide your cock into my pussy, stretching me wide.
Your strong hand grips my both arms, holding them tightly. The size of your huge hands compared to my thin arms makes me feel small and girly and I melt into your masculinity. Placing pressure on my lower back, you manipulate my ass further in the air, giving you greater access to the depth of my needy pussy.