I have a way about me. I have a way to strike you right in your mind and soul’s internal Hell’s Kitchen, turning up the heat on the passion within you that you stoked all day, bringing to a boil your wetness until it’s bubbling over, soaking down your sides like an unattended, forgotten pot.
So you may want to heed my advice: get your napkin handy, Kitten.
You might want to change your panties after this one.
Or leave em on. Bite down on them. Stuff em in your own mouth.
Either way is hot to me.
You see, Mr. Romantic Dominant, a 40-year old businessman, a man of character, of hard work and care, in possession of a cunning smile and a certain confidence about him, contains all the fortitude he needs to go out and take what he wants, and right now…
I want your orgasm.
I want you, Miss Reader. No matter where you are. To find a quiet place.
And I want you, Miss Reader, to continue reading, the story of lust unfolding in its sinful arrogance.
Whoever you are, wherever you are, and whoever you want me to be.
And I want to hear about after. In a comment. In message. In a note. Wherever.
I want you to envision in your mind, a setting. This setting is your home. The place you know best. The place you rest your head at night.
This place is empty of other people today. Just you. Nobody else.
Are you there yet? Try. Try again.
Okay, good. Now I want you to unbutton your pants if you are not already there with me. And imagine, you are in a brand new bathrobe, after exiting the shower.
Today you shaved. Today you are in peak presentation mode. Today, you have no excuses.
Your hair is wet. Your makeup just applied. Your body still naked and moist, under your robe. Warm panties tumbling away in the dryer, just waiting to snuggly fit up against your beautiful bare clean pussy.
A knock. At the door.
It’s 10:06 AM on a Saturday. You immediately assume it must be a delivery. UPS? FedEx?
So you walk to the door. You look through the peephole. And you see a man you recognize but can’t quite place how you know him.
“That face. That face. I know that face”, you tell yourself.
He is middle-aged. Average height. Average build. But that’s where all the “average” ends.
You can’t place it, but you know him and it’s killing you.
You open the door because you recognize him and now you are curious. And then he speaks. “Sorry to bother you, but I think I got your mail.”
That’s when you realize it.
Part of it is the mystique. Part of it is the raw sexy smile, eyebrow lift, and confidence that is just pouring out of him as he obviously has taken a mental note that you are naked under that robe.
The online guy you flirted with. “Holy Shit.”
You never asked him where he was from. You just played. Touched. Imagined. Came. Then the next night. And again. And again. Before you knew it, it seemed rude to ask where he lived. His name. So you just let it be.
This whole time you could have been bent over his bed in a 5-minute walk. What are the odds he is a neighbor? One street over. Same number, different road.
But He is oblivious to who you are. He doesn’t have any clue. Your hair is wet. The pictures you sent, you looked different.
Yet you see that he is having a hard time focusing on the conversation. That he is drawn to you. Turned on. Wanting you but trying his best to be polite. A woman in a bathrobe says something subtle to a man: “All I have to do is pull that string.”
So you ask yourself, “Do I mention it?” “Do I say that I know who he is?” “Do I mention I know him as that passionate blogger?” “That writer guy I played to over and over?”
Just then your phone rings. You swipe right but do so just as the caller hangs up. And instead of a phone call, your most recent App pops up.
And of course, that happens to be Tumblr. And of course, that Tumblr Blog happens to be his.
And front and center on your iPhone is his blog. In your hand, people fucking with raw intense passion in black and white, and the face on him could not be more shocked.
It takes one full second for him to connect the dots. Then. The grin…
The Grin washes over him. That sexy fucking grin. Now he knows, it’s You.
He recognized that Post. For he was the one who posted it, just 3 hours earlier.
As you begin to speak or try, with no words to say, he steps into your personal space. He does some quick math in his head and says “stop talking.” He pulls your robe open and pulls your naked exposed body standing on your porch towards him.
Right hand up around your neck. Pushing you inside the foyer. Driving you mad instantly. Kicking the door closed, his free hand is immediately on your clit running circles on you with your back and head pressed against the wall.
You have a thought “Do I tell him no?”. As your clit and lips feel the intense pleasure you know immediately you have no choice in this. You couldn’t resist if you wanted to.
Neck squeezed. Hair pulled back so your eyes are staring up to the ceiling. His head out of frame. Just his breathe and tongue on your neck, fingers inside you, and you cum a sweet orgasm that almost makes you collapse.
As soon as your legs regain strength, he pulls his wet fingers up and puts them an inch from your mouth. An inch from his mouth. His eyes say “meet me halfway, Kitten.”
So your French kiss is the kind with a new flavor.
Hair held tight as he bends you over the back of the couch and tongues your sweet little asshole and drives two fingers deep inside your wet pussy. Your G Spot is being made his bitch. It takes him all of a nanosecond to find your most intense inner spot and your asshole tingling is just adding to the complete loss of sensibility.
”My lord I cannot take it anymore”, you think. Just then, he releases your hair.
And that left hand now swings around your left upper thigh like a bear hug, and his index and middle finger are placed firmly on your clit. Pressure. Wet. Circles. Fast. Faster now.
”Are you fucking kidding me?”, you think to yourself again.
Clit. Ass. G spot. Seriously? Just then something changes. His hand inside you turns. Upright. His mouth moves back. And you hear something.
”Was that him spitting?”
Then the hand inside you, fingers on your G spot, make sense for the turn, as his thumb enters your tight little ass and you feel the digits pinch together, all while the clit is taking fire.
You can’t take it. Fighting the orgasms is no use. Internally your orgasm floods you from head to toe and as soon as he sees it take root, his left-hand goes into overdrive, and your clit fires off a second orgasm and you are wiped out simultaneously as you are cumming like never before. Twice. Simultaneously. A completely different feel.
As it nears to an end your hair is yanked by his left hand, your asshole expanded by two fingers now, and a hard, thick, sturdy cock meets the one place your body is yet to be wiped out: your O spot.
You are already totally wiped out. He hasn’t breathed hard once. So he gives you the best he has. Pounding relentlessly, you remember very quickly that there is no sexual act so gratifying as just getting fucked hard.
You cum again. Hard.
And as soon as you recoup for a split second you are tossed over the couch like a submissive little rag doll and your knees are up to your tits and he devours your throbbing wet pussy with a fit of anger like he hates it.
”Oh my fucking God”, this time you can’t hold the words in.
Nobody ever eats you after you have been throbbing. Your way-too-sensitive pussy is feeling intense pleasure and just then his left hand’s fingers go right inside your pussy and his right hands’ fingers in your ass and your back arches like you just got shock therapy.
Cumming again, from G and clit, as you finish he squeezes your neck and drives his cock right up inside your swollen throbbing heartbeat-laden cunt and the hazel eyes you read about are now staring at you from an inch away and you realize that the posts just will never do it justice like real passion.
Filling you with his seed, not a care in the world about the aftermath, you kick one more time and I collapse right onto you and your sexy little Miss Reader pussy has TRD cum dripping right out of you.
Touch. I kinda hope you do.
Also published on Medium.