Want. It ripples beneath my skin, subtle, unnoticed by others but a constant scratching, itching that demands my attention.
I can’t give myself what I crave but I can create the fantasy, take the pleasure and satisfy the need for a moment as I wait, all but patiently, for him.
Where to start? Closing my eyes I imagine his; dark, brooding, commanding. The sharp tug of his fingers gripped in my hair, pulling my neck back, so he can kiss, and lick and bite at the exposed flesh. Scratching nails, down breast, plucking fingers squeeze gasps of pain from between my lips.
Sweet pain, provoked my own hand, but the power of fantasy makes it his, makes me melt, makes me want even more. As I reach lower, needing to satisfy the lust sitting wet between my thighs.
With twists and turns of fantasy, he presses me hard against the wall, restraining my wrists in one of his hands, his body pressed hard up against mine. I could struggle, but I know he will win. I need him to win, so I acquiesce.
He rewards me with a slap and another and another. His fingers, his palm, hard against my softness. Reddening my flesh, heating my blood. I mewl, the pain a delight and press my butt back against him. He presses into me. Hardness against softness. Bites down hard on the flesh at my neck and I surrender completely to his dominance.
My body follows were he leads, fantasy throws me to the bed, legs spread. He kneels above me, looking down. Those eyes, I’m lost in those dark, soulful eyes once more.
“Touch yourself,” His words in my mind fuel my fevered, actual actions. I need release, fingers sticky and wet delving between my intimate folds, rubbing my clit. First it is his gaze that pushes me on. His eyes locked on mine, silently encouraging me closer to orgasm.
But he can’t just watch, he presses forward, between my thighs, inside me as my fingers slide over my clit. He’s over me, in me, kissing me, deep and hard. I am surrounded and filled, my senses alive with him, on fire with the burning want of him.
“Can I come?” I ask in a gasping whisper.
“No.” He thrusts and I whimper.
“Please, Sir, please can I come?” Desperation makes me louder, pleading to the air.
“No.” He thrusts, harder, deeper and I know I can’t hold back any longer.
“Please, can I come, Sir, please?” I scream it into the air as the orgasm sits poised at my fingertips.
“Come for me.” His words blend with the screams of my climax as I shudder and shake and curl up. The fantasy dissipating, but I can see his eyes, his smile echoing mine as ecstasy subsides and contentment settles upon me.
For a little while, until the want builds once more, as I wait, all but patiently for him.