Oh, how I've missed you.
I know I've shunned you for the past month. It's not that I don't care for you deeply. The truth is, I've been afraid of you. I know you have a mind of your own and you can be relentless and unstoppable. So I've done a little dance, played a little hustle to distract you.
But you're back.
I was on a very long fucking bus ride, made excruciatingly longer by the snow. Long drives always give way to sexual fantasies for me. And I was in a hotel room alone for three days. Maybe it was the illicitness of hotels - transactions and secret fucking. I'd write and then masturbate, bringing myself to the point just before orgasm. Then I'd stop, write some more and masturbate again, keeping myself perpetually wanton.
On the bus, I'd undress every man, press myself into him and feel how he'd fuck me. And how I'd fuck him. Then I'd comb through my infinite library of group fucking scenes: me and oh so many men. I was wet and frenzied.
In the middle of my reverie I receive a text from an old lover:
"Tell me about Agent Provocateur." I want new lingerie. I think he should buy it for me.
"You'd come with me and I'd model pieces for you, straddling your lap as I come out of the fitting room. The shop girls in their tight pink mini dresses fondle me as they adjust my straps. I'd meet you back at my place, wearing my new ensemble. You'd come in and I'd pin you against the wall, then down on the floor, grinding against your cock, my very wet pussy staining your pants."
"Come on, I don't believe the girls fondling you part." He's not much of a sport here.
"They do 'private fittings'. Then I'd climb onto the table, spreading my legs and masturbate for you. "
"What's gotten into you?"
It's what's come back into me.
Image: source unknown
Labels: all wanton-like